


i'm by your side, at least for a while

by Syster



Category: GOT7
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Minor Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29224911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syster/pseuds/Syster
Summary: Jackson's world is slightly off-kilter, and he’s been drinking enough to already start heading into hungover territory, where his mood always takes a turn for the worse. He can feel himself trailing down the path of melancholy, but just as quickly as melancholy tries to sneak up on him, he shakes himself out of it. C’mon! No one likes a mopey Jackson Wang, so — you know — cheer up. He hikes himself up by his drunk, metaphorical bootstraps and decides not to mope. It’s pretty successful. Jackson’s really good at putting away himself when he needs to.or; jackson wang is not exactly the type of boy you bring home to meet your parents but at least he's aware of it. doesn't stop him from getting a broken heart though. broken-hearted and worse for wear, will he realise that yugyeom, the little brother of his best friend, is determined to love him the way he deserves?
Relationships: Kim Yugyeom/Jackson Wang
Comments: 125
Kudos: 108





	1. if you're looking for stable, that'll never be me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: jackson does not like himself very much in this and uses sex to feel both better and worse at the same time.
> 
> unbeta'd.
> 
> title from miley cyrus song Never Be Me, the soundtrack that plays in the background of this entire fic.

“Shit,” Jackson swears into the silence of Euigyeom’s kitchen as he trips over the smooth, linoleum floor, “ _Fuck_ ,” he says as he realizes his mission of being _quiet_ didn’t really work out, squinting in front of him to see if there are any other hazards in his way. His bad eyesight and the general low lighting means he basically sees nothing, but he still manages to make the rest of the way to the fridge without tripping over something else. He hums as he carefully opens the door with a little suction of a pop. He blinks at the contents, and, fuck, he’s kinda forgotten what he was looking for.

He’s _so_ drunk. His world is slightly off-kilter, and he’s been drinking enough to already start heading into hungover territory, where his mood always takes a turn for the worse. He can feel himself trailing down the path of melancholy, but just as quickly as melancholy tries to sneak up on him, he shakes himself out of it. _C’mon, Jacks! No one likes a mopey Jackson Wang, so you know — cheer up._ He hikes himself up by his drunk, metaphorical bootstraps and decides not to mope. It’s pretty successful. Jackson’s really good at putting away himself when he needs to.

Suddenly, there is a hand on his shoulder and it’s a testament to Jackson’s drunkenness that the only thing he does is just look at it, as though confused more by the fact that the hand is touching him than of being scared that it’s like... a serial killer. Not that a serial killer would ever be in Euigyeom’s little suburban house, the sheer _goodness_ keeps any wickedness away. Well, except Jackson. But, like, he has a key. So he doesn’t _count_.

“Hyung?” the hand says and Jackson blinks, turning his head. When it’s a pajama-clad, fluffy, dark-haired Yugyeom that meets his gaze, Jackson breaks into a wide, slightly crooked, grin and lets go of the refrigerator door — which in turn makes him stumble.

“Yugyeommie!“ Jackson slurs as he stumbles into Yugyeom’s long arms. Yugyeom’s arms wrap around his waist, and Jackson quickly throws his arms around Yugyeom’s neck, pressing a wet kiss to Yugyeom’s cheek, “You’re back already?! Euigyeom-ah said it would be another week!” he slides his hands down to Yugyeom’s biceps, grinning widely as he looks Yugyeom over, his slightly fuzzy gaze slipping over Yugyeom’s body and flushed cheeks.

“Man, you got even _taller_ , which, like, seems unfair!” he had to _lean_ up in order to kiss Yugyeom’s cheek. Oh, he shouldn’t be surprised. Yugyeom’s family are all giants, sprouting like weeds if you put them in enough sun and good soil. Jackson, meanwhile, feels _tired_. He feels— Jackson shakes his head. _None of that, we’ve already talked about it. Cheer. Up._ Jackson smiles broad enough to make his cheek hurt.

“Yeah, I came home early, I wanted some time around the campus before classes start?” Yugyeom says, sounding a lot smoother-voiced than he had two years ago, when his voice still broke a bit on certain words, “And I — well, Euigyeom said you came back early too?”

“I can’t believe you are already starting college,” Jackson says, neatly side-stepping the question underneath that last thing Yugyeom said with the reflexes of a man who used to do a lot of fencing and still does a lot of emotional labor.

“All grown up, huh?” Jackson smiles softly, and Yugyeom looks a bit embarrassed at that, his beautiful almond-shaped gaze slipping to the side. The last time they’d met, Yugyeom still had that coltish shape and energy of someone still growing into their limbs. Now, even though he is dressed in pink pajamas, Yugyeom looks like an adult. But then he smiles, a tiny and embarrassed little thing of a smile, cheeks flushing as Jackson calls him handsome and pinches his cheeks, and he looks just like the little boy Jackson and Euigyeom used to beat in Mario Kart ten years ago.

Yugyeom’s hand, once it stops trying to get Jackson to stop pinching his cheeks, falls to land on the high waistline of Jackson’s light-wash Levi’s, right where his loose tank top is tucked into it. Jackson grins, leaning forward, pressing himself closer against Yugyeom’s chest. The hand on Jackson’s waist grips a bit tighter, and Jackson sways a bit as he tries to find steadier footing.

“I’m so fucking drunk,” Jackson hiccoughs and startles himself into a giggle, “I wanted something from the fridge, but I can’t remember what.”

“Ice cream?” Yugyeom says, carrying the smile in his voice the same way Euigyeom does and isn’t that nice. Jackson’s two favorite people in the world having the same kind of voice-carried smile.

“Ice cream!” Jackson snaps his fingers, “Aw, Yugyeommie -” he leans forward to give Yugyeom another kiss on the cheek, but his feet aren't really with him right now and so he trips over them. He giggles again as Yugyeom helps him to sit down on the floor.

Jackson breathes in, pulls his knees to his chest, and places his head against his knee. He carefully tucks one finger into the little rip on the side of his jeans right over his left knee and smooths it over the bruises forming there, taking comfort in the pain. Suddenly there is something cold against the top of his head. He blinks and squints at the cold and finds once more that it’s Yugyeom, carrying a bucket of ice cream and two spoons.

“My savior,” Jackson slurs, making grabby hands. When Yugyeom reaches out to give him the ice cream, Jackson just rolls his eyes and reaches beyond it to grab Yugyeom’s wrist and tug him down to sit next to him. Yugyeom settles next to him, looks at him fondly, but not condescendingly, which is just _nice_ — Yugyeom’s _so nice_ — and opens the ice cream up. Jackson just leans his head against Yugyeom’s shoulder and waits while Yugyeom puts some ice cream on the spoon before giving it to Jackson who takes it and puts it in his mouth. He keeps it on his tongue, warming the cold treat in his mouth as he washes away the taste of alcohol and the cock he’d sucked earlier with a burst of chocolate. His lips still feel a bit tender, so he presses the cool edge of the spoon towards them after getting another spoonful of ice cream from the tub in Yugyeom’s hands.

“You alright, hyung?” Yugyeom asks, quiet and earnest, sitting next to his big brother's disaster of a friend, eating chocolate ice cream at 3am in the morning, “You wanna talk about it?”

There are few things Jackson wants to talk about _less_ than last week, honestly. He doesn’t even want to think about it. He can basically feel his brain actively dismissing any concrete thought about last week with the vigor of a street-cat seeing a familiar trap. But still, even avoiding the thought, he can’t shake the general feeling of ennui that comes on the tail-end of realizing that you’re just not good enough for _life_. He shakes his head, raising it from its rest on Yugyeom’s shoulder, but the motion makes him feel a bit sick. _Snap out of it, Wang_.

“No,” Jackson answers, to both questions, licking away the ice cream on his spoon with a flick of his tongue before sighing and before placing his head back against Yugyeom’s shoulder. It’s a nice shoulder. _He’s gotten broader,_ Jackson thinks, the thought a bit fleeting and difficult to follow, “Tell me about your dancing, instead.”

Yugyeom is silent for a moment, and Jackson can feel Yugyeom’s dark gaze burning like a brand against the top of his head. But Yugyeom is good, so fundamentally good, that he doesn’t push, not even when he clearly wants to. Instead, he just sighs and holds the ice cream bucket so that Jackson can take another spoonful, and quietly, low and soft underneath his breath, starts to speak. He talks about his latest dancing competition, the one Jackson had only seen online and showed to anyone who would stick around long enough to watch it. Jackson thinks the flame emoji might be permanently seared to his most used emoji-list after that commentary streak.

As Yugyeom talks, Jackson hums and closes his eyes. He focuses on Yugyeom’s soft words rather than the whir of his own brain, the persistent pick of angry, sizzling insecurity. Ah, it can’t be helped, the whirring, aching thoughts of everything he doesn’t deserve but still want, are still probably going to win in the end. They usually do, but... they don’t feel quite as overpowering when tampered by the soft cadence of Yugyeom’s voice and, honestly? That’s enough, for now.

* * *

The next morning, Jackson wakes up on the sofa underneath a blanket. He feels like absolute shit, but then again, he rarely wakes up _not_ feeling like shit, so whatever. He stretches and yawns, wincing as his knees hit the side of the couch, setting off the pain in the purple bruises forming there. He grimaces and rubs a hand over his knees. He really should’ve grabbed a pillow or _something_ before sucking that guy's dick. Like, _please_ , Jackson, _foresight_. What's the use of having done it a million times if you don't _learn_?

There’s the smell of cooking food coming from the kitchen and with it trailing into the living room, Jackson rises from his rest to go find the source, but not before making sure to fold the blanket. He manages it and does so surprisingly neatly for someone who can barely see through the haze of his hangover.

Euigyeom is standing by the stove, humming tunelessly as he cooks. There are three plates on the table, and Jackson’s entire heart bursts into warmth, the way it usually does when he’s included. He leans against the doorframe from the weight of his heart and makes a small noise. Euigyeom looks back and sees him and gives a big, comforting smile.

“Jackson-ah,” he smiles, reaching out to wave him closer, and Jackson makes a small happy noise, padding up to Euigyeom on quick, sockless feet. Euigyeom places an arm around Jackson’s shoulders, doing it in that fantastic way where he is all warm and steady and gives your shoulder a squeeze at the same time. It’s like being hugged by comfort given shape and flesh. Jackson wraps his arms around Euigyeom’s thick waist, closing his eyes as he takes a steady breath supported by the solidity and softness of Euigyeom’s frame.

“Did you sleep alright?” Euigyeom rubs a hand over Jackson’s bare bicep, while still juggling the spatula for the omelette in his other hand, like the _perfect_ man he is, and Jackson hums as he nods, melting into the kind touch like a street-weary stray cat.

“Yeah, I slept alright,” and it’s not a lie, even though he’s still trying to navigate his way through a massive headache, because he did. He slept warm, he slept well and _safely_. His back hurting, his knees being bruised and his jaw popping slightly from being overused? That's not the sleeping arrangement’s problem. That’s a _Jackson_ problem.

Yugyeom comes yawning into the kitchen a moment later, already smiling at both of them before even stopping his yawn. He flushes a bit when Jackson chirps a _good morning!_ and gives a cheerful wave.

“Did you carry me to the sofa, Yugyeommie?” Jackson smiles, taking the plate of rice that Euigyeom gives him to put on the table, looking over his shoulder at Yugyeom, “Ah, I didn’t know dancing would give you muscles like that!”

“Ah, no, I - I — you walked, but I helped? You were pretty, uh, tired?” Yugyeom says, yawning again as he sits down by the table, scratching the barely-there stubble on his chin.

“And drunk, honestly,” Jackson sighs, placing the plate on the table and leans over to pet Yugyeom’s soft cheek, watching his long eyelashes flutter at the movement, “Such a good dongsaeng,” Jackson smiles, curling his fingers over Yugyeom’s cheek. Ah, he’s so beautiful with his large almond-shaped eyes and softly handsome features, pale skin flushed, “You are going to be breaking hearts, my little Yugyeom,” Jackson sighs, giving Yugyeom’s cheek one last pat before going back to Euigyeom and getting the next plate of food.

Yugyeom sputters and Euigyeom laughs, a deep-rooted chuckle from the base of his ribs, and Jackson wants to put his head right there, over Euigyeom’s soft stomach and hear that chuckle reverberate through his entire body.

“Speaking of which —” Euigyeom starts and Yugyeom groans, as though already knowing what this is going to be about, “— Gyeom-ah is worried about meeting friends.”

“ _Hyung_ —” Yugyeom says, poking at his food with a puffed-out look to his cheeks which makes him look so _cute_ and makes Jackson laugh brightly. Yugyeom quickly glances at him before ducking his head, his ears flushing red and not finishing his complaint.

“Ah, that I can help with!” Jackson exclaims and puts down the last plates of food before squeezing himself down next to Yugyeom, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “There’s a party tomorrow — wait — what day is it?”

“Friday,” Euigyeom answers mildly, smiling as he pours them juice, wiping his hands off on his apron.

“ _Tonight_ , then! I’ll take you there!”

Jackson has to convince Yugyeom a little bit first, but that’s alright, Jackson likes a bit of a challenge. Jackson spends the entire breakfast leaning close, laughing and waving his fork around, telling Yugyeom all about the wild world of _college parties_. Jackson cheers when Yugyeom finally agrees, and Euigyeom laughs as Yugyeom sputters when Jackson presses kisses all over Yugyeom’s cheeks and Jackson feels so warm, surrounded by the closest thing he can call family.

* * *

They turn up to the party a bit late, because Jackson is an old hand at this and knows just the right time to turn up to a party. You can’t turn up too late, because then everyone’s just _drunk,_ but too early and everyone’s still awkwardly standing in their separate corners not saying anything. So, like little Goldilocks’ going to some version of the three bears cabin, they turn up at just the right time as shown by the stink of cheap beer in the air and the absence of streakers.

Yugyeom is wearing a nice little e-boy ensemble that makes him look very cute with a short-sleeved shirt over a striped long-sleeved shirt. His hair is very fluffy and his eyes are very wide and as such, Jackson feels incredibly protective. He will be both a fantastic wingman and a great defender, tonight. Jackson, meanwhile, is wearing the same jeans as yesterday, but with a button-down shirt he borrowed from Euigyeom stuffed into the high waistline instead.

“Aren’t you cold?” Yugyeom says, looking at the rather impressive swath of chest Jackson is showing by lieu of the many unbuttoned buttons.

“I’m too hot to be cold,” Jackson answers with a put-upon grin, running his hand through his hair. Yugyeom rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree, “Besides, _one_ of us has to satisfy the masses' lust for skin, and you certainly won’t,” he continues, tugging at Yugyeom’s two layers of shirts.

The party is at the dorm and it sprawls out over the second-years’ corridor like some sort of disease. There are multiple types of music blaring from different speakers of varying sound quality and the beer that they get shoved into their hands is luke-warm and tastes like nothing, if ‘nothing’ tasted bad. Jackson has a bottle of vodka with him, the kind that even has a proper label. He’s been at enough of these things to know that you need to bring your own alcohol if you don’t want to end up drinking the vilest concoctions ever. He offers some to Yugyeom but he seems, in true _freshman_ fashion, rather intrigued by all the horrid types of drinks available.

It’s the first proper campus party for the new school year, and since Jackson made sure they came at the right time, they don’t have to spend too much time wrestling with awkward small talk. So when Jackson arrives, he’s mostly just greeted with slurring speech and enthusiasm and can thus get right to introducing Yugyeom to the people he should know. Looking fondly over to Yugyeom, currently admired for his height by two starry-eyed girls, Jackson doesn’t know why Yugyeom was worried. He’s such a sweet boy, he’ll have no trouble making friends. Even now, at the first party of his college career, he is immediately popular with his polite speech and gentle nature. He sticks to Jackson though and Jackson is pretty touched by that, by how trusted he is. Jackson even finds himself resting a hand on the small of Yugyeom’s back, gently steering him along through the bustling crowds.

But alas, to fly, a baby bird must be pushed out of the nest and not simply lead through throng after throng of increasingly drunk and desperate college students.

“This is Yugyeom,” Jackson says, leaning forward so he doesn’t have to shout too loudly over the blaring music, his hand loosely curled around Yugyeom’s wrist, tugging him forward so that Yugyeom stands closer.

“This is Bambam,” Soon Yo answers, her pretty painted lips quirked into a smile over the dark hair of the boy she has her arm slung around, her eyes warm and appreciative as she checks Jackson over, lingering on the way his necklace falls underneath his button-up shirt, “He’s new.”

“So is Yugyeom!” Jackson gasps, pulling Yugyeom forward and placing him next to Bambam and Soon Yo, “Great friendships have started with less in common!” He says, wisely, before barking into laughter, making Soon Yo join along, her laughter and warm gaze tingling along his spine, “Ah, Gyeommie —” he starts, but is interrupted by someone wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing their mouth underneath his ear, their breath wet as they start to speak.

“Jackson-ah,” the person says, his voice low and honey-like, and _oh_ , it’s Ji-hoon from down the hall, Ji-hoon with the lovely brown hair and darling freckles. They never shared a class, but Jihoon and — “Do you know when Jinyoung-hyung is going to show up? I need to ask him something about class.”

“Ah, I —” Jackson swallows and quirks his lips up in a smile, placing one hand on the arm around his waist, the other one petting through Ji-hoon’s soft brown hair, “I wouldn’t know, Ji-hoon-ah, me and Jinyoungie — Jinyoung, we aren’t —” he swallows, curling his fingers against Ji-hoon’s freckled forearm, “We broke up.”

“Oh, man, that sucks,” Ji-hoon says, sounding sympathetic but not necessarily surprised, which Jackson can understand. No one had really expected them to last. Not even Jinyoung. Jackson had, but Jackson’s a fool, so what does it matter. Ji-hoon’s arm tightens around his waist and Jackson’s stomach warms and flips at the gesture, curls around the aching feeling of disappointment and failure accompanying the reminder of Jinyoung. He can feel the shape of Ji-hoon's smile against his skin and allows himself to smile a bit giddily back.

“So you’re free, then?” Ji-hoon murmurs, releasing his hold around Jackson’s waist to rest both hands on Jackson’s waist and grip at the curve of it, hard enough for Jackson to feel the weight of his hands, “For later?”

“Yeah,” Jackson answers, smiling and turning around to press a kiss against Ji-hoon’s cheek, “Sure. Later.”

Ji-hoon laughs, patting one of his large hands over Jackson’s waist one last time before winking to the others, stepping back into the crowd after giving Jackson’s hip one last squeeze. Jackson feels the remembrance of that weight tingle even after Jin-hoo has left. He looks back to the three people he was _actually_ talking to. Soon Yo looks more amused than anything, used to Jackson’s antics by now. Yugyeom is looking a bit intense, not necessarily judgmental, but the look in his brown eyes are too close to it for comfort and so Jackson just claps a hand on Yugyeom’s shoulder, ignoring the low whispering hiss of _slut_ curling out in his mind like a derogatory term of endearment, whispered to him in his own voice.

“C’mon, Gyeommie, make your friends!” He smiles at Bambam who grins back. He gives Yugyeom a small shoulder bump, leaning forward to murmur in Yugyeom’s ear, “I’ll be on the dance floor if you need me, alright?” He slides his arms around Yugyeom’s waist, leans up to press a kiss against his cheek, feeling Yugyeom’s lovely cheek pull into an instinctive smile at the move.

“Uh —” Yugyeom starts, swallowing, but Jackson just winks and disappears into the crowd, drinking from his bottle of spirits as he goes. He meets people he knows on the way, sharing kisses and lingering hugs. Someone rests their hand on the small of his back, stroking their thumb over the thin fabric of his shirt, and he lets them, his mind warming and thrilling underneath the attention. One or two ask about Jinyoung, but most don’t. Jackson wonders, a bit distantly, skin shivering as someone traces a finger over his collarbone and compliments the cut of his shirt, if everyone had known they wouldn’t last. If everyone except him had seen the break-up coming from a mile away.

Jackson laughs as a girl pulls him out on the dancefloor, her thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. He sways into dancing with her as she steps closer and presses her body flush against his. As she presses her lips against his neck, his eyes flutter shut and he tilts it to the side to give her better access. She giggles against his skin and he turns to kiss the sound from her lips, merely smiling as someone else comes up behind him, running their hands over his sides, down over his thighs, in between his legs to cup him over his jeans.

Ah, he loves dancing, even though he’s never been the best at it. But he’s good at this, at moving to the music and swaying to the beat of someone else's movements. He closes his eyes as someone dips their fingers underneath the waistline of his jeans, touching his bare skin. There is a hand on his thigh, groping hard and he gasps when someone else runs their sharp nails underneath the wide, open collar of his shirt, down over his pectorals. Someone huffs a laugh in his ear, calls him easy in everything except words, and oh — Jackson _knows_ that. He _knows_ he’s easy. He also knows that he wants this and that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? That he wants it.

After a while of roaming hands, there is someone new. Big hands on his hips, guiding the sway of his movements, making them roll more into the rhythm of the music. Whoever it is smells like pine and oh — Jackson knows that scent. He knows who that is.

“Hi, Gyeommie,” Jackson murmurs, placing one hand over one of Yugyeom’s hands at his hips, curling his fingers around it, “Are you having fun?”

Yugyeom pulls him closer, because the music is very loud, and Jackson won’t hear otherwise, but Yugyeom doesn’t stop his movements even as he pulls Jackson closer. Instead, they continue their mutual, gentle roll to the rhythm.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom breathes out against his ear, running a hand over Jackson’s back, down to ghost right over the swell of Jackson's ass, “Yeah, I’m having fun.”

“Good,” Jackson smiles, pressing one of his hands to Yugyeom’s chest, curling his fingers into the black shirt, looking up into Yugyeom’s beautiful, cat-like eyes, “I’m glad.”

They move together because Yugyeom doesn’t move away and Jackson doesn’t want to either. They move and sway while standing closely intertwined. Yugyeom’s hands are warm and heavy on Jackson’s body, curled over the edges of his jeans. Jackson runs a hand over Yugyeom’s shoulder, touches a finger up over Yugyeom’s cheek, tucking a strand of wavy, black hair back behind Yugyeom’s ear.

“Jackson-hyung —” Yugyeom starts, sounding a bit out of breath, but before he can continue, Ji-hoon is there, pressing his entire body hot against Jackson’s back, grinding his groin up against Jackson’s ass. Jackson sighs and leans back into the movement, away from Yugyeom.

“I found a room,” Ji-hoon says in Jackson’s ear, a bit too loudly. Jackson nods, hums, removes his hand from Yugyeom’s shirt and leans forward to press a sweet kiss against Yugyeom’s cheek.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?” Jackson murmurs, smiling as Ji-hoon pulls him away, wrapping his arm around Jackson’s waist and pressing his lips against the side of Jackson’s head. Ji-hoon murmurs praise into the soft, copper strands of Jackson’s hair and Jackson’s broken heart beats hard at the sound of kind, slightly empty, praise.

“Fuck, you look so _good_ ,” Ji-hoon tugging one side of Jackson’s shirt out of his jeans, placing his entire large hand on Jackson’s bare skin. Jackson shivers, leaning closer and Ji-hoon smiles, “And you’re still so fucking easy.”

 _Yeah_. Jackson thinks and giggles a bit deliriously as Ji-hoon runs his entire hand up Jackson’s waist, rucking up the shirt even before they’re out of view of the other guests, exposing Jackson’s tan skin to anyone that might be looking. Jackson smiles and bites his lip as Ji-hoon opens the door to one of the dorm rooms, pushing Jackson inside.

The door is barely closed before Jackson is pushed to his knees, his hands unbuttoning and pulling down Ji-hoon’s trousers and underwear, releasing the half-chubbed hardness of Ji-hoon’s cock. Ji-hoon places his hand in Jackson’s hair, tugging at the strands, his laughing eyes watching as Jackson follows with the movement easily, the pretty pink of his mouth already falling open.

“Your pretty damn mouth,” Ji-hoon says breathlessly, like a curse and Jackson shivers with the praise and condemnation all in one, “Fuck, I’ve missed it.”

Jackson hums and licks his lips, leaning forward to lick at the head of Ji-hoon’s cock with a quick flick of his pink tongue. He murmurs softly as he feels the leak of salty precum against his tongue as he laps at the slit of the head before swallowing him down completely. Ji-hoon’s got a fantastic dick, not too big, which means it fits perfectly into Jackson’s mouth. But it’s girthy enough to make his jaw ache when he sucks it, which is just enough of a punishment to make Jackson feel like he can earn the syrupy warm bliss he gets from doing this. He places his hands on Ji-hoon's hips, going back to suckle at Ji-hoon’s cock, opening his mouth as it swells into proper hardness to let it slide between his lips.

He relaxes his jaw as he pushes himself down over Ji-hoon’s cock, Ji-hoon’s hand still tight in his hair, moaning as Ji-hoon makes a small, aborted thrust, forcing his cock deeper.

“Sorry,” Ji-hoon breathes, and Jackson merely squeezes his hands on Ji-hoon’s hips in quiet acceptance before bobbing down his head, sliding the cock deeper into his throat until he can press his nose against Ji-hoon’s pubic hair, his jaw loose and aching around the hot flesh. He stays there for a moment, relishing in the taste and smell of cock before moving back up, releasing Ji-hoon’s cock with a small _pop_ , taking a breath before wrapping his lips around the head of it once more.

Ji-hoon grabs his hair a bit tighter, tugs at it, and Jackson accepts the direction, slides his entire mouth down over Ji-hoon’s cock again, letting the swollen, red head of it hit right slip into the grasp of his throat. Ji-hoon gives a small thrust. Jackson’s eyes flutter shut as he relaxes his jaw wider, keeps his tongue tight and curled against the hard, curved length in his mouth, makes himself easy and good to use.

“Fuck, so good,” Ji-hoon groans, rolling his hips as a mix of drool and precum drips from the corner of Jackson’s mouth, down over his chin and trickling down onto his chest, “Fuck, you do this so well.”

Jackson trembles at the praise, relaxing further but tightening the grip on Ji-hoon’s hips, urging him to go faster, go deeper, go _harder_. Ji-hoon groans again, this time the low sound is mixed with a bit of a laugh. He takes the hint and starts fucking Jackson’s mouth in earnest. With each snap of Ji-hoon’s hips, his cock slides deep and hard into Jackson’s wet, lax mouth and throat, open and eager for what’s being given.

Ji-hoon doesn’t last long after that, not after he presses his entire cock into Jackson’s mouth, keeps it there until he moans and starts to cum, releasing down Jackson’s throat.

“Fucking fantastic,” Ji-hoon chuckles, low and deep, running a hand down from Jackson’s hair to his chin, pressing it to shape the curve of Jackson’s pink mouth, “C’mon, get up, I’ll jerk you off.”

Jackson is pulled to his feet and pressed back against the door. His head hits the cheap wood of the door with a dull thunk as Ji-hoon shoves his hand down into Jackson’s jeans, wrapping his hand around Jackson’s achingly hard cock. Ji-hoon tugs his cock, curls his fingers over Jackson’s leaking length, smearing dripping precum all over as he thumbs at the head. Jackson gasps his own release moments later, whimpering and spilling over Ji-hoon’s hand, his hands clutching Ji-hoon’s shoulders.

Ji-hoon grins, pulling his hand back to wipe them off against the side of Jackson’s jeans, before gripping over the soiled cotton tightly, pulling Jackson closer, making Jackson laugh breathlessly as he wraps his arms around Ji-hoon’s neck, “I’ve got a couple of friends I’d think you’d like, Jackson-ah, if you want to make a night out of it,” Ji-hoon mouths an almost kiss against Jackson’s neck, one hand still on Jackson’s hip as the other one kneads at his ass.

“Not tonight,” Jackson murmurs back, “I’m here with a friend,” he continues, not necessarily _not_ apologetic.

“Bummer,” Ji-hoon shrugs, sighing as he grips Jackson’s ass tight, pulling him close to press his groin right over Jackson’s, grinding their hips together, “Next time?”

“Next time,” Jackson agrees easily, skin buzzing and frizzling with nerves, with the knowledge that he shouldn’t like this as much as he does. What’s even worse is how that only slightly dampens the elation of having been used, the two warring feelings curling and intertwining into Jackson’s stomach like golden lead.

* * *

Jackson makes his way back to the party, stumbling slightly, not bothering to tuck his shirt back in. He looks over the crowd of people, keeping an eye out for Yugyeom’s soft, dark curly hair and glinting silver piercings. But before Jackson can find Yugyeom, his gaze finds another familiar face.

His and Jaebeom’s eyes meet only for what can only be a second over everyone’s heads. Jaebeom’s eyes widen almost comically as their gazes meet, his mouth forming a small _o_. Jackson merely blinks, as though suddenly realizing that he and Jaebeom being on the same campus means they’re actually going to run into each other. It was stupid of Jackson to think otherwise, especially since most of their friend groups overlap after three years and a bit of friendship. Jaebeom quickly ends whatever conversation he is having, starts making his way over, and Jackson... well. Jackson flees. He doesn’t even bother to look around to see if Jinyoung’s there as well, which is probably just as well. Because where Jaebeom goes, Jinyoung follows, and even though Jackson knows that, he isn’t really ready to _deal_ with it yet.

A couple of minutes later, heart in his throat, Jackson stumbles outside and takes a deep breath the moment he finds fresh air. Together with that steadying, slightly shaky breath, he finds Yugyeom right there on the porch, next to Bambam and a couple of other freshmen. Yugyeom looks up at him with a lovely smile and moves over so that Jackson can sit down next to him. Jackson quickly does, making himself small and crowding closer to Yugyeom as the younger man wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“You alright, hyung?” Yugyeom murmurs, his thumb stroking right where Jackson’s short sleeve shirt meets skin.

Jackson starts, prepares to smile but stops as he feels a twinge of ache in his jaw. He falters, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

“Give me a second, wait —” Jackson answers at last as Yugyeom pulls him closer, warm and bright and achingly kind.

When someone tries talking to Jackson, Yugyeom neatly steps in between, curling his own friendliness in protection around Jackson’s frazzled nerves. Jackson takes the moment gratefully leaning his head against Yugyeom’s neck, lets the familiar scent of pine and warm skin settle his nerves and ease his breathing.

“Did you have fun?” Yugyeom murmurs, tilting his head towards him, his sweet face open and earnest.

“Yeah,” Jackson says, because he did have fun before Jaebeom, and he did have fun _despite_ knowing that his answer _should_ be no, because who actually _enjoys_ being face-fucked in a random room at a party that’s just on the manic side of alright. But whatever, Jackson’s a bit damaged and worse for wear, he already knows this, and whatever today has been seems par for the course, honestly. It is what it is. Jackson’s used to hitting the ground running, a broken heart won’t stop that, “Yeah, I had fun.”

Yugyeom breathes, his hand steady and warm on Jackson’s bicep.

“Good,” Yugyeom says gently, squeezing his hand a bit tighter over Jackson’s skin, “I’m glad.”

It doesn’t sound like a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my white whale! my CURRENT white whale at least. this is a different vibe from what i usually write, with a lot more melancholy than i usually go for. so. i'm really really nervous about posting it but well. yeah. i'm going to update once a week, probably on fridays or saturdays.
> 
> i'm really excited to take you on this journey!!! it's a subject i feel a lot about, and i want to write someone being hurt and then being loved, very tenderly, despite not quite believing they deserve it. and i firmly, deeply believe that everyone deserves to be loved for what they are, not only for what they could be.
> 
> if you liked this, please leave a comment! they give me a lot of motivation in trying times!
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


	2. if you're looking for faithful, that'll never be me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.
> 
> chapter title and fic title from never be me by miley cyrus.
> 
> trigger warning: jackson uses sex as a method to feel both better and worse about himself in an unhealthy manner. please keep that in mind as you read.

It’s a Tuesday about two weeks into the semester when Jackson’s very skillful evasion tactics, which mostly rely on a hair-trigger reaction to Jaebeom's preferred flavor of Axe-bodyspray, fail him and he actually runs into Jaebeom for the first time. Okay, it’s not technically — like, it’s not like they run into each other like some sort of absolute failure of a meet-cute, but Jackson is walking from one lecture to another when suddenly he spots Jaebeom on the other side of the corridor, with Mark and Jinyoung by his side. Jaebeom’s arm is slung around Jinyoung’s shoulder, and without even looking, Jackson knows that Jinyoung’s skin is flushed pink with adoration.

Fuck. He’s always _hated_ Tuesdays. He knew it was for a reason. His reaction time is not great when under emotional duress, honestly abysmal for a former fencer, which means that when he spots Jaebeom, he freezes. Like _prey_. _Fuck_. He’s not even looking _hot_ , what with him wearing a pair of sweatpants he stole from Byung-woo last night and a shirt that smells — well. Gently Used. The entirety of _Jackson_ smells Gently or Not-So-Gently Used if he’s completely honest. Shit, _fuck_. He was supposed to be _hot_ when he finally decided to bestow Jaebeom with his not so illustrious presence. He’s made plans for this, thought up and refined at night when no matter how many things he tries to distract himself with, the memories sneak back like —

Mark is the one that spots him first. For a moment, he and Jackson just stare at each other. It aches a bit, meeting Mark’s eyes over the heads of their fellow students, because Jackson _likes_ Mark and has liked him ever since Jaebeom introduced Jackson to his chill, soft-spoken roommate and said roommate had offered him food. Jackson’s pretty easy, he’ll give undying loyalty and a lot of unwanted love for a scrap of food or affection.

Jaebeom spots him next and when he does, Jackson feels a shiver trudge and ache through the edges of his spine. He _wants_ to feel angry, wants to flair into something more impressive than his usual sullen pout, but mostly he’s just... sad. And he _misses_ Jaebeom and, frankly, that’s the part of it he hates the most. That, despite Jackson wanting to feel vindicated about everything that went down about a month ago, he can’t even seem to hate Jaebeom properly. Even now, with Jaebeom’s arm around the boy Jackson spent an entire summer pining after, it feels like Jackson’s heart, treacherous and yearning for affection the way it always does, stretches and whimpers in the shadow cast by Jaebeom’s gaze.

For a moment, they stare at each other. And then Jackson quickly pulls his beanie down over his head, ducks into the crowd, ignoring the distant _Jackson-ah, wait, fuck — move! Jackson!_ as he stalks through the corridors, his original destination completely forgotten. He just needs to get away. He just needs to find his bearings and stop _thinking_.

He careens headfirst into a tall, slightly gangly, body. He makes a low, punched-out sound and almost falls over, but then there are large hands gripping his biceps, steadying him.

“Hyung?” says Yugyeom’s familiar voice and Jackson looks up, gazing into Yugyeom’s familiar dark gaze, his beautiful almond-eyes framed by long, full eyelashes, “What’s —”

“Hide me,” Jackson blurts out, swallowing tightly around the words, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

And Yugyeom, bless his heart, just _does_. The other kid from last night, Bambam, is next to Yugyeom and only seems mildly shocked before he nods and leads them down the rehearsal corridor. Between them (Bambam being a music major and Jackson having been fucked in most rooms of the building), they manage to locate a room with a functioning lock.

Finally, with a locked door behind him and Jaebeom’s presence, Jackson feels as though he can finally breathe. He sinks down with his back against the stand-up piano, sighing as his head _thunks_ against worn wood. There is silence, for a beat or two, long enough for Jackson to start feeling a bit bad about the fact that he apparently hi-jacked promising young students and asked them for help, as though he needed help to hide something more significant than his worthless, broken heart.

“An ex?” Bambam says, breaking the silence. He plays at nonchalance, looking over his nails as he lilts the words into the air. Jackson feels such a surge of affection for the act, for the way Bambam clearly is trying very hard to impress someone and how he’s _still_ sweet enough to try the water a bit and not simply jump into accusations.

“No,” Jackson starts but then halts because that’s not the entire truth, is it? He frowns, shaking his head, “Or, well, yes? Kinda?” Jackson breaks out into braying, loud laughter and takes off his beanie to run a hand through his hair, “Actually, it’s my best friend. Ex-best friend. Ex-best friend that’s currently dating my ex-boyfriend,” Jackson sighs, rubs a hand over his eyes, only stopping to pinch at the bridge of his nose, “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” Bambam says, something a bit soft slipping between the dyed hair and meticulous makeup, sounding a lot more like sympathy, “Sounds like it.”

Jackson smiles at Bambam, in thanks for the pieces of sympathy, as Yugyeom leans closer, looking slightly worried. His defined black eyebrows furrow a bit, the motion almost hiding that lovely little mole of his in the lines around his eyes. _Don’t do that_ , Jackson thinks, reaching up to pat a finger over Yugyeom’s cheek, smoothing out the wrinkles of worry, _I’m not worth wrinkling your skin over_

“Is he mean to you, Jackson-hyung?” Yugyeom’s lashes flutter and he swallows a bit as Jackson soothes his fingers over his skin, but his gaze is intent and worried.

“Hm?” Jackson asks, blinking in the light of Yugyeom’s gentle worry. _Oh_ , he thinks, feeling himself sway in the face of it, feels himself glow and preen in the gentle warmth of being cared for. _No_ , Jackson tells himself firmly _, stop it. You will not **ruin** this, you ass,_ “Oh, no, not at all.” Jackson pats more fully over Yugyeom’s cheek, carefully tucking one curled lock of black hair behind Yugyeom’s ear, “They were very much in love,” Jackson laughs, because it’s kind of _funny_ , how stupid he had been when he really should’ve known better. Jinyoung and Jaebeom have always been soulmates, even if it had taken Jaebeom a while to figure it out, “I was just an obstacle to pass.”

And in the aftermath of his predictable heartbreak Jackson had pulled away like a wounded, suffering animal. He’d done so because the worst part, the _worst part,_ is that he doesn’t even blame them, not for the betrayal or the lies or anything of it really. Because honestly?

He’d choose someone else over him too.

“So, what are you two doing?” Jackson asks as Bambam carefully folds his long legs to sit down next to him, “Oh, wait, we haven’t really been formally introduced, have we? I’m —”

“Jackson Wang,” Bambam rushes to say, clearing his throat as his cheeks flush with gently bitten red even as he kicks his leg out at a gently snickering Yugyeom, “I - I know.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, feeling the twinge in his stomach between the warring notions of satisfaction and dismay at his own infamy. _Ah_ , Jackson thinks with a soft sigh, _he knows who I am then._ It’s nice to know that the only thing standing between a person and the knowledge of Jackson’s status of campus slut is merely a couple of weeks of classes.

“Ha!” In the end, Jackson settles for a smile, because what else can he do but laugh about it? It’s _funny,_ somewhere, and Jackson is good at finding the mirth in his own hardship, “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

Bambam flushes bright red and Jackson snickers, patting his shoulder as Yugyeom nudges his foot against Bambam’s calf, “Hyung, me and Bambam are planning a project, in dancing.”

“Oh!” Jackson claps his hands together in delight, “That’s fantastic! Tell me about it!”

“Well, we kind of need music —” Bambam starts, picking at the stylish rip in his knock-off designer jeans.

“Wait!” Jackson interrupts, hastily pulling out his phone and scrolls it through to dig out a couple of contacts. He waves at Yugyeom to hand Jackson his phone, which Yugyeom does without pause. Jackson writes them down in Yugyeom’s phone, carefully making sure that each number is correct before adding the little music note emoji after each contact he puts in, “— there! There are some really good people in the music department that I’m sure would love to help you and, ha —” he winks and bumps his shoulder against Bambam’s as he hands Yugyeom’s phone back, “I haven’t even slept with all of them! So no need to worry about that making them averse!”

There is a toll as the clock rolls over to quarter past, meaning that the evening lectures have officially started. Jackson’s not going to his, that’s already decided. But it should be safe now. He doubts he’s important enough for Jaebeom to miss class. He hopes he isn’t. Jaebeom can’t miss class, because the economy department bases their grade on attendance. And Jinyoung, well, Jinyoung’s probably in class too, brilliant and star-bright by the piano as his professor asks him to showcase composition after —

“Coffee?” Jackson says suddenly, snapping himself out of the thought process with the force of a whiplash, unfolding his legs and rising from his position with a slight creak to his bones, “I’ll pay for it!”

“Uh, I can’t, I mean —” Bambam says, but he looks torn, pulled between wanting to stop them and wanting to join them, and Jackson finds that very cute.

“I won’t corrupt your partner, don’t even worry about it, Yugyeom and I go way back!” Jackson says, slinging his arm around Bambam’s shoulder, hugging him close, “I wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I guess, that’s... good, I mean, that’s, uh —” Bambam frowns, flushing even redder. Jackson gives a small huff in a mix of sympathy and mirth. Jackson doesn’t know how to tell Bambam that it’s okay to be worried, that it speaks well of him to want to protect his friend from Jackson’s infamous wiley nature. Jackson knows who he is, he won’t blame Bambam for knowing it too. Besides, Jackson’s an open book, and the best part about that is that you don’t even have to memorize the content that well since he’s a tad too eager for you to know him. Jinyoung had barely even had to try, Jackson had thrown himself by his feet without Jinyoung even asking him to.

Maybe Jinyoung would have loved him more if Jackson had made him try harder. Jaebeom certainly had done that better, ignoring Jinyoung all the way from childhood to second-semester until Jackson got interested.

Ah! Jackson shakes his head and loops an arm through Yugyeom’s as he settles a smile so broad it hurts his cheeks onto his face. Yugyeom laughs, the one that catches his lips and eyes before it breaks into sound, but his arm sneaks around Jackson’s waist, squeezes reassuringly before letting it simply rest there as a steadying presence. Bambam is looking slightly flushed, but as Jackson pulls Yugyeom out the door, waving animatedly, Bambam reflexively lifts his own hand to wave back.

Yugyeom’s cheeks are red, his eyes dark as he watches Jackson pull him along, their hands tightly interwoven.

Jackson looks back, meeting Yugyeom’s gaze, and finds that the smile, the one that he’s settled onto his face with the struggle and ease of slipping into his borrowed sweater, hurts a lot less.

* * *

“Hi, Youngjae-ah!” Jackson proclaims, leaning over the counter to wave at Youngjae, his favorite barista and rival because of Youngjae’s tendency to see right through him in a way Jackson both deeply craves and intensely dislikes, “Corrupted anyone cute over the weekend?”

“For the last time, Jackson-hyung, it’s not corruption, it’s all _consensual_ ,” Youngjae sighs looking back at him, but his lip quirk up in a bit of a half-smile, and it soothes the gentle ache inside Jackson that seems so ever-present and all-consuming, “You want the usual?”

“We’re having coffee that tastes like dessert, so yes,” Jackson smiles, tugging Yugyeom forward, reminding himself to let go off Yuygeom’s hand before he crosses the line from _affectionate_ to _clingy_ , a line he’s always struggled to see, “How’s your mother?”

“Ah, she’s fine, she’s a lot better,” Youngjae leans forward, nips at Jackson’s waist with his sharp, pinching fingers, “You need to start eating better though, she’ll worry when I tell her you’re disappearing.”

“Ai, Youngjae-ah, stop it,“ Jackson laughs and slaps at Youngjae’s hand, “I’m taking care of myself fine, tell your lovely mother not to worry,” he turns to Yugyeom but still has his gaze on Youngjae who is already fixing their orders, even as Jackson allows himself to rest a hand against Yugyeom’s chest, “Ah, so sneaky, do you hear that, Yugyeommie! Using his mother to make sure I come here and eat myself fat””

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Youngjae says, his sharp eyes baring Jackson to the bone with the gentle, calculating competence of a man who is convinced enough of his greatness to become a surgeon but also with enough of a solid, inflexible moral core so that he dreams of doing it at a free clinic, “Don’t be a stranger, hyung.”

And with that, he gives them their coffee, sliding a muffin with the order that Jackson hasn’t paid for. Jackson laughingly puts the 2 dollars in the tip jar instead while Youngjae rolls his eyes. Jackson knows, logically, that it’s just a muffin. But look, Jackson desires and wants to be taken care of, so the muffin feels like a lot more than _just_ a muffin. He’s not going to eat it, because his stomach is still churning from yesterday and still volatile from seeing Jaebeom, but he’ll... keep it. He grimaces around a shy, embarrassed smile as Yugyeom watches him wrap the muffin carefully in a napkin and then put it into his pocket.

“For later,” Jackson shrugs, feeling a bit small at the reminder of his incessant need for closeness, feeling a bit like a squirrel unprepared for winter, scurrying after every scrap he can get his hands on.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom agrees, “For later,” he continues, not looking judgmental at all, just smiling as he wraps his long fingers around his cup. They sit down at Jackson’s favorite part of the café, at the collection of two armchairs and a table right by the window. It’s cold because the window leaks a little bit, but Jackson can watch people as they pass from here and he likes doing that. He likes watching people and their lives pass him by and imagine that one day he might be one of them.

Yugyeom clears his throat, “You, uh, you talk as though your reputation is really bad?” Yugyeom starts, rushing and stumbling over the words. Jackson smiles at him, placing his head in his chin as he watches Yugyeom flinch at the way it came out, the way it didn’t sound nice even though Yugyeom had surely meant it nicely. Jackson doubts that Yugyeom has a mean bone in his body, “Wait, what I mean is...”

“Take a breath, Gyeom-ah, I know who I am,” Jackson snorts, carefully removing some of the skimmed milk with his spoon and licks it into his mouth with a flick of his tongue.

“I - I mean, when you met Bambam, you kinda talked as though the only thing people know is —” Yugyeom falters again, his ears red and cheeks flushed, his long eyelashes dipping and fluttering over his beautiful dark eyes.

“How I’m a slut?”

“Well, yeah, but, uh —” Yugyeom works his hands around his cup that betrays his nervousness, and Jackson sighs and reaches out to take Yugyeom’s hand, intertwining their fingers the way he used to do when Yugyeom was nervous before a dancing competition, lending his own imperfect strength for Yugyeom to lean on. Yugyeom’s eyes flicker down to their joined hands and then back up to meet Jackson’s, his eyes round. Jackson mouths a sorry and let’s go, settling his hands back around his cup with nary a thought, way too used to being too much.

“People know you for other things too?” Yugyeom continues in the end, flexing his hand as he settles it back around the cup, curling his nails over the plain, white porcelain, “I mean, you’re friendly and — and smart, and people talk about the exhibit? The one you did last year when you helped —”

“Ah,” Jackson says, breaking through the words as a slow, syrupy burn of desperation churns in his stomach. He’s so _easy_ , the compliments ache and splinter his bones, takes root around his heart, curls into his stomach. He wants to lean closer but knows that what he wants isn’t good, so he reflexively does the opposite, leaning away even though all he wants to do is bask in Yugyeom’s stammering praise, “Yeah, that was fun, that was —”

“Jacks?” someone interrupts and Jackson looks up. Ah, it’s Erica. From class. They did a couple of group projects together. She’s smiling with all her teeth and when she leans forward a bit, his eyes track over the curve of her cleavage. She’s beautiful, with her cropped brown hair and large, dark eyes. Her rose-painted full lips are curled into a sweet, suggestive smile. He rises from his seat to wrap her into a hug.

“It’s been a while,” she says and reaches out to trace a finger down his cheek, the touch familiar and intimate.

Jackson, being who he is, sways into her touch. Erica is nice, great in bed, and fun to talk to, maybe — She locks eyes with him and then sends a glance over her shoulder, to where her ex is watching them. Ah — Jackson knows him too. And he knows Jackson, or at least his reputation.

She smiles at him, leans closer, presses her soft body against his and Jackson closes his eyes, breathes in the warmth of her skin and the sweet, gentle citrus of her perfume. He lets his hand rest in the curve of her waist and curls his fingers over her shirt.

“Wanna meet up later?” Erica continues, her face flushing a bit as Jackson meets her gaze. She bites her lip and Jackson tracks the movement.

“Sure,” Jackson says around the _no_ he should say that’s lodged in his throat. She only wants to make her ex jealous, and Jackson should probably like himself more than that, but at the same time — he’s needed. He’s wanted, even if the reason is to make someone jealous. Tomorrow, she’ll be back with her boyfriend and he’ll probably be in someone else's bed. They've done this before. They both know the drill.

Erica kisses his cheek, murmuring a quick, “Thanks, Jackson-ah, I’ll send you a message when I leave?” before turning to leave even before getting his confirmation, saying a warm good-bye to Yugyeom as she goes. She looks at Jackson over her shoulder as she leaves, tucking a strand of brown, curly hair behind her ear.

He turns back to Yugyeom and sits down again, carefully avoiding Yugyeom’s gaze. For a second, he allows himself to feel the coiling sick feeling of guilt before it’s tampered out by the equally syrupy, destructive feeling of being _wanted_ , if only for a while.

“The slut thing isn’t wrong, you know,” Jackson says, in the end, throwing back his hair with a smile, tucking his grimace into his cup as he drinks from it.

“No,” Yugyeom says, and Jackson isn’t looking at him, because he can hear and feel the sigh Yugyeom does in his very bones, “I know.”

The silence rests between them for a while, stretches out into something that isn’t uncomfortable but not quite comfortable either.

“That’s a cute dog,” Yugyeom says, in the end, motioning out the window with one of his slender, long-fingered hands. Jackson looks up and sees the wagging tail of a happy corgi passing by and grins broadly, finally meeting Yugyeom’s gaze. Yugyeom is smiling back and Jackson feels himself relaxing in the face of it.

“Remember Dandelion?” Yugyeom continues, pink lips still quirked into a smile as he leans forward, brown eyes warm and soft. Jackson laughs and leans closer as well, fingers still around the fading warmth of his cup.

“Of course I remember Dandelion!” Jackson exclaims, releasing a huff of laughter as he shakes his head, “The sweetest dog in the world!”

“That dog hated everyone,” Yugyeom huffs, puffing out his cheeks, “He bit you _twice._ ”

“And your mom stitched me up, every time,” Jackson sighs, his gaze growing a bit distant, “Always so kind to the little orphan boy from down the street.”

“To the little boy that wouldn’t stop trying to pet the neighbor's cranky old dog, got bit twice and chased off the property at least thrice that,” Yugyeom rolls his eyes, “And then still cried when he passed away.”

“You mock me, and yet, you and Euigyeom helped me hold the funeral,” Jackson grins, winking as Yugyeom flushes a bit, “And you, my sweet little Yugyeommie, you cried during the entire thing.”

“Yeah — well,” Yugyeom clears his throat and buries his face in the cooling warmth of his mug, “You... You loved that dog a lot.”

Jackson _had_ loved that dog a lot, but he doesn’t know how to tell Yugyeom that love hadn’t been all of it. The second time he’d been bit, he’d done it... not on purpose, because Jackson didn’t do many things on purpose, not even when he wanted to, but he’d been looking at Dandelion over the fence and remembered the way Yugyeom’s mother had patted his cheeks, had hushed and soothed his worry. And back then, he still had a vague idea of what it meant to miss a mother, not just as an abstract concept, but as a tangible loss in physical affection. So, he’d... tried petting Dandelion again. Even though he knew he shouldn’t have.

For a wild, irrational moment, he thinks about telling Yugyeom about that. Because maybe then Yugyeom will stop looking at him so _nicely_ when he realizes to what lengths Jackson will go for a soft touch.

He clears his throat, but before he can start or finish whatever it was he was going to say, he sees Erica by the door, putting on her jacket. She catches his eyes before she leaves, her long eyelashes fluttering, her cheeks delightfully pink. He sees her tap the message into the phone even before he receives it.

 _I’m done_ , the message says, devoid of any emojis, simple and perfunctory, _meet you at my place in 30?_

Jackson taps out a quick, easy _yes_ , deleting the instinctual smiley he wants to send along with it. She’s not asking for that. He exhales, looks up, and gives a small smile at Yugyeom whose lips are still twitched high, watching Jackson with soft eyes, because he doesn’t _know_. Somehow though, the guilt doesn’t win out over the slow simmer of anticipation and _that_ just makes him _worse_ , doesn’t it?

“You have to go?” Yugyeom says, looking back over his shoulder at Erica’s disappearing form, and — and when he looks back, his eyes are still gentle. Still warm.

“Yeah,” Jackson says, feeling a bit breathless, “But not quite yet.”

Yugyeom hums and leans forward, taking Jackson’s hand and intertwining their fingers in a mirror of what Jackson had done before. Jackson’s tender, bruised heart beats a bit quicker.

“Okay,” Yugyeom smiles, nodding a bit, “Yeah, that’s perfectly okay.”

* * *

Erica’s nails scratch over his scalp as he presses the flat of his tongue between the wet folds of her cunt, his hands around the outside of her thighs as she grabs his hair and presses him closer. She whimpers as he keeps his pace steady even as he follows her direction, sways and moves wherever she wants him to go.

“Fuck —” she moans, gasping as her thighs tremble underneath his touch, “Ah, Jacks, _fuck_ —”

She grinds against his face and tugs at his hair, as though she wants him even closer, even though he is literally pressed as tight against her as he can be. But still, he curls his hands a bit tighter, shifts his shoulders so that her hips lean a bit differently, so she can feel his eager tongue better against the wet heat of her pussy.

He glances up, finds her with her head thrown back as her spine curls into an arch. Her eyes are closed, her pretty pink lips wet and open in a gasp. Her large breasts heave as she moans in between gasping breaths. Jackson groans, closes his eyes, and continues his steady movement and the eager, curling press of his tongue against her cunt, savoring the taste of her wet bursting over his tongue.

“There,” she moans, eyes still closed, “ _There,_ ” she repeats.

Jackson makes a low, agreeing little sound, pitiful and yearning even to his own ears. He flattens his tongue, lets her grind and ride against it, her body stiffening into tension before quivering, shivering into release. Her breath staggers out of her as she presses him close, curling her body around his head, her fingers digging hard into his hair as she whimpers and stutters out her orgasm, cumming against his tongue.

He keeps himself still until she comes down, until she shivers and untangles her fingers from his hair, tugging more gently at them to make him look up. He feels warm and used, useful and wanted. Erica giggles a bit as she pets a hand over his cheek, her fingers trembling a bit.

“Ah, Jacks —” she starts, the mirth resting in the syllables of her nickname for him, and Jackson’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into her touch, “— so _good_.”

Jackson hums and waits for her to tell him where she wants him next, but the moment, gentle and stolen, is interrupted by the harsh, sudden vibration of Erica’s phone. Her hand leaves his cheek immediately, finding the phone quickly. He opens his eyes as the warmth of her thighs disappears from around him and she pulls back with a raised finger and a flushed, mouthed little _wait_ exhaled from her full, kiss-swollen lips.

“ _What!_ ” she snaps into the phone, sounding breathless and when her ex (soon to be non-ex) boyfriend starts talking on the other side of the line, she bites her lip, and looks — happy. Ah. Jackson blinks, sighing as he rights himself, and she ducks out of the bedroom to find privacy. Jackson shivers, feeling the cold of her apartment a bit clearer with his own arousal being a low, distant buzz of unimportance. He fumbles for his phone, abandoned amongst his scattered clothes, seeing that he has a new message from Yugyeom in between all the usual notifications. He swipes it open as he lays down in Erica’s bed, on the pillow that smells like the man she would prefer to be with her.

It’s a picture of a dog, black and large and a bit mean-looking. Jackson can see the edges of Yugyeom’s large hand, holding the dog’s attention, making it look into the camera as the owner’s leg is only barely visible at the side.

 _Look!_ the caption says, _Doesn’t he look like Dandelion?_ the message ends with a sunflower, seemingly nonsensical, but Jackson likes it anyway.

Jackson smiles, his fingers curling over the back of his phone.

 _Yes_ , he answers, _very cute_ , ending the message with a sparkling, pink heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jackson absolutely refusing to see how much people love him: the fic.
> 
> so ji-hoon and erica aren't... bad people, but they are also using jackson in a way that isn't entirely nice. it's a hard balance to strike, and this fic in it's entirety teeters very much on the edge between emotions, always kind of rocking between melancholy and normalcy.
> 
> this chapter, we find out a bit more about jackson and his past! next week, we get even more.
> 
> the comments i got on the last chapter was absolutely fantastic, they made me almost tear up several times!! this fic is a challenge to write, and to hear that people enjoy it and to read what you think about the writing, was such a balm on my frazzled nerves. 
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


	3. i know i do this all the time, i walk the line, i play with fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.
> 
> fic and chapter title is from Never Be Me by Miley Cyrus.
> 
> trigger warning: jackson deals with his depression by having sex, both in search of feeling better and worse.

The month that follows Erica is surprisingly mellow, trudging along its intended path down a semester that hasn’t quite hit the part where it gets _bad_ yet, lingering at the place where everyone still thinks they’re okay taking 8am classes. Jackson spends most of his time hanging out with Yugyeom and Bambam, finding some kind of stability in the growth of a new friendship. Yugyeom isn’t new, Jackson has literally known him for almost two decades, but there is — it’s different, getting to know Yugyeom the adult. It’s been nice.

Of course, they can’t hang out all the time, mostly because Jackson isn’t a dance-major and is also very careful about not overstaying his welcome, so the rest of the time he has on his own is spent the way he usually spends it. It’s a pretty set routine by now, honestly. The predictability of it doesn’t make it any easier, though. He starts getting antsy on Thursdays, with the long stretch of the weekend and the bleary, sunken promise of _nothing_ stretching out in front of him. He goes to a party on Friday, is fucked that night and hopefully on Saturday as well (either by the same or a different person) and after that, he can spend the Sunday trying to promise himself that he’ll become a new person. He almost always fails, but at least it gives him some vague, false hope for the future. Maybe one Sunday, the promises he makes to himself in the mirror, poking at the bruises over his hips and the marks over his back, will actually come true.

He’s not terribly hopeful though, but he refuses to let that deter him. Worse people than him have had a redemption arc, right? Maybe one day he too will wake up and want other things, will not have that void inside him that seems to only be filled by other people, even if they aren’t kind to him. Even if they don’t want him back, the way he wants them.

It’s Friday when Jaebeom manages to corner him for the first time since Jackson told him to _fuck off_ almost two months ago. Jackson can’t be blamed. Unlike last time, when it was a Tuesday, today is a Friday and Jackson is almost completely at the mercy of his stupid, spiraling brain that still can’t _calm_ down, only pock and pick and buzz and _want_. It’s an odd thing, to be at the mercy of your own, malfunctioning brain, to know what’s happening but unable to stop it, like trying to catch water in your hands.

“Jackson,” Jaebeom says, suddenly in front of him, grabbing Jackson’s wrist. Jackson startles enough to make Jaebeom grimace and look like he’s almost feeling something like remorse, which would be a fucking _first_ , “You need to stop avoiding me. We need to talk.”

“I wouldn’t have to avoid you, Jaebeom-ssi,” Jackson answers, making his voice airy and bright, blinking his large eyes, biting out the _ssi_ with a hiss, “If you did what I asked and avoided _me_.”

“I — Jackson, stop that,” Jaebeom grumbles, fingers tightening around Jackson’s wrist, and Jackson vividly thinks about breaking Jaebeom’s arm. Just clean off. The violence of the thought shakes him and he quickly shies away from it, buries it deep with the shame of a dog breaking a family vase, unable to parse together the _why_ but the shame instinctual, coded into his very bones. He takes a breath, steadies himself, jaw working as he answers.

“I don’t want to talk, Jaebeom. You’ve made your stance perfectly clear and, honestly, I like to think I was pretty clear as well, I mean it’s not like —” Jackson pulls at his wrist, but Jaebeom keeps his hold tight, his nails digging into Jackson’s wrist. If Jackson didn’t know better, he’d say that the look on Jaebeom’s face was a bit like desperation. Jaebeom’s eyes flicker over him, over Jackson’s open collar and haphazard bruises, over the one bite-mark from last weekend that hasn’t completely healed over his neck. Jackson’s wearing a high-collar, but Jaebeom is pulling on his wrist hard enough to pull the arm of it down a bit, revealing the mark, “Jaebeom, let me go _—_ ”

“Are you partying every weekend now?” Jaebeom interjects, bluntly, with a frown that feels so fucking _cruel_. But _fuck_ if Jackson doesn’t miss Jaebeom so much it hurts. He misses the blunt, awkward kindness, the floundering tries at friendship, the way Jaebeom takes so long to trust but then loves endlessly, foolishly, even after someone tells him to _fuck off,_ “Are you taking care of —”

“Any fucking right you had to ask those questions are completely gone, you sanctimonious piece of shit, leave me the fuck alone,” Jackson hisses, shaking off Jaebeom’s hand and when Jaebeom tries to grab him again, Jackson locks his own fingers tight around Jaebeom’s wrist, slamming it back against the wall. Jackson’s grip is so tight that Jaebeom has to fail to pretend that he doesn’t flinch and Jackson feels something cold and satisfied settle into his stomach when he sees it.

“I’m just trying too — _Jackson_ ,” Jaebeom says, shaking his head and stepping forward, his eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t hear you complain this much about my partying when you were fucking Jinyoung behind my back,” Jackson sneers, voice low, his mind beating and pulsing. His anger frizzles out over the edges of his mind, pools into his chest to meet the constant ache of sadness, growing to become something raw and old and new all at once. Anger rarely wins for him, but right now he is _furious,_ “But then again, it helped you then, didn’t it? Telling me he didn’t deserve me in the morning and then going ‘round to get his dick in the afternoon, huh?” Jackson forces himself to release Jaebeom’s wrist, his hands shaking as he does it, “And you dare show up and act judgmental about _my_ fucking life?”

“I — you two had broken — He’s my —” Jaebeom’s throat works, his jaw juts out and his eyes flicker down. Jackson curls his lip over his teeth because he _knows_. He _knows_ that now, he knows that Jaebeom loves Jinyoung and Jinyoung loves Jaebeom, but he _didn’t_ know it then. He didn’t fucking _know_ , and he _hates_ himself for it.

“If you did nothing wrong, _Jaebeom_ ,” Jackson hisses, enunciating each syllable hard and biting as he shoves at Jaebeom’s chest, hard enough to make the other man stumble backward, “Then why the _fuck_ are you still trying so fucking hard to talk to me?”

“Jackson —”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Jackson mutters hoarsely, gathering his things and elbowing his way past Jaebeom’s broad shoulders and frantic dark eyes.

“ _Jackson_!” Jaebeom raises his voice but doesn’t follow, and Jackson merely pulls his shoulders higher and keeps walking.

Jackson does not look back. He can’t. His heart aches and bleeds with the love he carries for the man behind him, just as it still aches and bleeds for Jinyoung. Jaebeom is a blunt man, still learning his way around shades of grey. He probably thinks it’s about the timing, that it’s about how he and Jinyoung started fucking a week after Jinyoung and Jackson broke up.

It’s not, not really. Fuck, Jackson tries not to be a hypocrite and he’s certainly fallen into bed with people hours after a break-up. No, it’s about how Jackson didn’t know about it until Jaebeom and Jinyoung had been fucking for almost two months. It’s about how he’d been told by Jinyoung’s _sister_ , instead of by the guy he thought was his _best friend_. Look, Jackson _knows_ that he should’ve seen the way Jinyoung and Jaebeom were meant for each other, but Jaebeom had _laughed_ when Jackson had asked if he and Jinyoung had anything between them. _No, Jackson-ah_ , Jaebeom had said, all glinting smile and sharp, dark eyes, one arm slung around Jackson’s shoulders, _that’s my annoying childhood neighbor, why the fuck would he be anything to me?_

He’d tried so _hard_ being a friend to Jaebeom, ever since that first day he and Jaebeom sat down next to each other the first day of college, in a class neither of them wanted to take. Jackson had liked the way Jaebeom’s hands were very large and very gentle even as he looked as though he wanted to physically fight the concept of the philosophical theory that their professor had written on the blackboard.

With a shuddering breath, Jackson stops, because the anger has fizzled out and the only thing left in its wake is this deep, bone-weary kind of sadness. _Mourning_. As though the anger had done nothing but hollow him out and set a fire that burnt out too quickly. _Everyone leaves_ , Jackson thinks, clutching a hand over his heart, _everyone leaves, don’t act so fucking surprised about it, Wang_.

As he walks down the hallway, his breath is still caught high and tight in his throat, feeling as though it has gotten stuck. Over the heads of his fellow students, he sees a familiar curly, black mop of hair.

“Gyeommie!” Jackson shouts, tearing his voice away from the sadness and void-anger that tries to steal it away. With a big grin, he packs up the emptiness tight and tucks it away. He’ll deal with it later. He’ll deal with it never. He’ll mend it over by sucking someone’s dick, like putting a band-aid on a bleeding gash. It’ll barely work. Jackson has this down to an _art form_.

“Jackson-hyung!” Yugyeom says, smiling wildly, waving his entire long arm in the air, as though Jackson needs help finding him in the crowd. When Jackson gets to him, Yugyeom grins, his pretty pink lips splitting wide over his lovely teeth, crinkling his nose into a delightful little button. He’s beautiful, lit by the sunlight streaming in from the windows. At least that soothes some of the annoyance Jackson feels every time he pays his expensive tuition (barely made feasible by his ‘we’re-real-sorry-you’re-an-orphan’-scholarship). The large, airy windows bathing Yugyeom in light and making him look warm and lovely certainly make some of the money worth it.

Jackson hooks an arm through Yugyeom’s. Yugyeom accepts his touch so easily, laughing as he lets Jackson grab his hand and only squeezes their clasped hands tighter together in response. Jackson has already asked for too much from Yugyeom, greedy and eager, wanting more even when less should be enough. The loss of anger and rise of sadness means melancholy and ennui and he can feel it grasping its fingers after him like shadows rising at twilight, and like an animal stuck in a well, he just throws himself at anything that makes keep him afloat for just another moment.

“Take me somewhere,” Jackson murmurs, blinking up at Yugyeom, daring to ask for something, again, even though he shouldn’t. He _shouldn’t_.

Yugyeom furrows his brow and looks down at him. Jackson won’t repeat himself. He can’t. When the moment stretches on for just a little bit too long and he’s just about to laugh and say that he didn’t mean it, but... But then Yugyeom smiles again, very gently, and squeezes Jackson’s hand.

“Okay.”

* * *

“Ice cream?” Jackson snorts, giggling out a high-pitched little laughter, “ _Yugyeommie_ ,” he smiles as he takes the one vanilla scoop ice cream cone from Yugyeom’s outstretched hand. It’s just a little bit too cold for it, but Jackson can’t stop grinning anyway. Yugyeom, cheeks slightly flushed, just smiles back.

“Ice cream is nice,” Yugyeom answers, a little bit defensively with his voice carrying his nasally little whine that Jackson somehow finds charming, “Hyung, don’t be mean.”

“I’m not!” Jackson says, licking a melting stripe of ice cream from the cone in his hand, smiling softly as he feels the little burst of honey on his tongue, “You got them to drizzle honey over it?”

“Yeah, uh —” Yugyeom sits down next to him on the bench, his long black-clad legs crossed in front of him, his chunky boots slightly worn at the tip as he taps them a bit nervously against each other, “— you... like honey, still, yeah?” Yugyeom’s face is a little red, even though it is not very cold. Jackson tugs Yugyeom’s collar a bit higher in response, to protect him better against the chill, his fingers brushing against Yugyeom’s throat.

“Yeah,” Jackson taps his fingers against Yugyeom’s skin, letting his touch linger carelessly, just to feel the heat of Yugyeom’s lovely, golden skin, “Yeah, I still like it. I can’t believe you remembered.”

Yugyeom sighs, but bites into his three swirled chocolate cone with his teeth like a _maniac_ and leans back against the bench.

They sit there quietly for a while until Jackson hums and gives a big grin, “When is your exhibition? Lee Hyung told me you’d talked to him about music.”

“You want to come?” Yugyeom asks, swallowing and hesitating around the words, sounding a bit like he’s nearing a skittish horse showing the whites of its eyes. Jackson feels like flicking his nose. Brat.

“I don’t know, I don’t —” Jackson doesn’t want to overstep, he doesn’t want to be too much. He scares people away, he knows that, he scares them away or makes them want to leave, and he lives in vague, abstract terror of the day it happens with Yugyeom.

“You... haven’t been to one, for a while?” Yugyeom continues, looking at Jackson from the corner of his eyes, taking another bite of his ice cream.

“Ah, no that’s —” Jackson falters, hiding his fumbling words in taking another lick of his ice cream, “I... I haven’t wanted to intrude,” Jackson breathes out, gaze falling down before he shakes his head into a smile and puts a hand on Yugyeom’s arm, “But I... I always looked at the videos after! And I made Euigyeom run a commentary during, so I could really get a feel for the room. And! I commented on them!” He doesn’t want to intrude, but sometimes he can’t help it. Like how he intruded on Jinyoung’s and Jaebeom’s love story, even though he really thought he hadn’t.

“I know,” Yugyeom smiles, “My classmates used to tease me about it,”

“Oh —” Jackson frowns, looks down, “That’s not what I wanted, I’m so —”

“No, they used to tease me about it because I always waited for it,” Yugyeom says, quietly cutting off Jackson’s thought process, dismantling it before it even starts to form, “They would see me sitting there with my phone, updating the post, waiting for you.”

“... Oh.” Jackson swallows, looking away, sneaking his tongue out to lick at the ice cream, to taste the sweet burst of honey and vanilla, “Oh, I — You wanted me there?”

“Yes,” Yugyeom says, sounding very sure and steady and not sounding hesitant at all. Not even judgmental, not even as though he blames Jackson for not being there from the start. Jackson’s braying mind, buzzing and bright, wants to cling on to anything that can be turned into blame. But Yugyeom’s dark eyes are kind, his soft pink mouth is curved into a gentle smile, little specks of chocolate lingering on his lips, and gives nothing but warmth in return, “I do. I’d love it if you showed up,” Yugyeom smiles and leans forward to bump his shoulder against Jackson’s, looking up at him through long, beautiful, and curved lashes, “But if you can’t, I’ll wait for the comment.”

It’s late October. It’s not quite cold yet, but it’s certainly not warm. Autumn is still mild, still a suggestion of cold rather than outright chill. And here they are, eating ice-cream. Yugyeom smiles at him as Jackson takes the last bite of his ice cream, reaching the sweet crust of the cone. He’s so beautiful, Jackson thinks, his brain unable to focus on being a burden, on being too much and as such, it instead settles into something contemplative and reflective. Something soft and shy, that is usually overshadowed by other things. A lock of Yugyeom’s soft black hair falls forward over his forehead and Yugyeom eats messily, his hands stained with chocolate. So when Yugyeom brings a hand up to tuck the strand of hair back, Jackson bats it away and tucks it back behind Yugyeom’s ear himself. His fingers curl, humming with the heat of the touch that he presses against Yugyeom’s skin.

“It’s our third date,” Jackson says, the words rushing out of him, and when they’re out, trembling in the mild autumn sun, he quickly tries to hide them behind a smile, behind a tease and a wink, “Ah, I mean, if we had been going on them!”

Yugyeom just blinks and looks at him, giving a smile so brilliant it shames the sun.

“I know.”

Jackson’s breath catches in his throat, fluttering in time with his beating, bruised heart.

* * *

Jackson doesn’t go to a party that night. He’s not entirely sure why. He’s telling himself it’s because he already has two people unsubtly asking him if he’d mind them swinging by later, so he doesn’t really need to. But it’s not really that, not if he’s honest. The thing is, that the only party tonight also just so happens to carry a way too high a chance to run into Jinyoung since it’s thrown by the dance and music majors. Jackson _should_ go, though. He should go to show that Jaebeom’s confrontation earlier didn’t bother him, but that would be lying, and Jackson is such a shitty fucking liar. Uneasiness rolls through him, his mind positively humming with it. He clenches his hands without thinking about it, popping the knuckles, staring at his phone without really seeing anything on it.

He has dragged himself into the present enough to start the message answering the couple that is asking for his attention when there is a phone call. _Bambam_ flashes on the screen. Jackson blinks, furrows his brow, and answers with a swipe of his thumb.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Hyung?” Bambam says, sounding young, and Jackson, in an almost instinctual jerk of a movement, is already up and putting on his shoes and pulling on his jacket, “I need help.“

“Okay, I’m on my way, send me your address, yeah? Do you need to stay connected?“ Jackson takes his headphones, holding the cord between his teeth as he sets it into the phone, “Look, if you need to punch someone, use the heel of your hand, fingers curled tight against the palm, slam it against the nose, it should —”

“No, it’s — it’s fine, I’m fine, it’s Yugyeom, he got really drunk,” Bambam says, breathing a bit easier, “My roommates are leaving and I don’t wanna go home alone, but I also don’t want to leave him and —”

“You’re doing great, Bammie,” Jackson murmurs, “It’s good that you called.” He checks the phone, sees the address, _fuck_ , it’s the party he’s been avoiding, of course it is, “Look, I’ll take an Uber. I’ll be there in ten minutes, is that okay?“

“Yeah,“ Bambam nods, sounding relieved and his voice a bit less wet, “Yeah, we’re in the bedroom on the second floor.”

“Great, see you soon.”

About eleven minutes later, which is good enough, Jackson is elbowing his way through the crowd. People are really, really drunk. The entire party kind of vibrates with bad energy, and it’s not just Jackson being dramatic because of a break-up he resoundingly lost. There is something frantic around the entire thing, barely contained within the four walls of the building. It seems like it’s so much bigger than it was supposed to be and Jackson feels a bit of a twinge of sympathy to whichever poor student was roped into having this party when he sees someone put out a cigarette against the leather couch and then puke right out onto the carpet, which someone soon steps in without noticing, tracking it into the kitchen.

“Jackson!” Someone shouts, grabbing his arm. Jackson turns around to look and, ah, it’s Kwan, who is looking bright-eyed and flushed. Jackson feels a sliver of response in his belly to Kwan’s obviously hungry look, the way his eyes rake over Jackson’s body, even though Jackson is not wearing very nice clothes at all, ”You free?”

“No,” Jackson answers, smiling as he tries to pull his arm away. Kwan’s grip is strong, and _fuck_ , Jackson _hates_ making a scene, “Kwan-ah,” he says, pushing the _ah_ , “Let go, I need to —”

“C’mon,” Kwan leans forward, breath fogging with beer and spirits as he grabs Jackson by the waist, “Where do you have to go that is so important? The goal is always someone’s bed anyway, right? Why not let it be mine?” Kwan grins and Jackson swallows because he isn’t — he isn’t _wrong_. Jackson feels that sliver of self-hatred, the one that makes him want to drink and fuck and behave so badly it bursts and burns into flame, both to reduce it to ashes and to fan it higher.

“Let go of my arm, or I’ll break yours,” Jackson says evenly, curling his lip, “Understood?” He puts one hand on Kwan’s wrist, the one holding him back. He tightens his grip and Kwan flinches. Everyone always forgets that Jackson has been in every single sports team since he got here, even though he had to stop a year ago when his ACL tore.

“Alright, alright,” Kwan mutters, letting go, “Don’t fuss,”

“You need help, Jacks?” Comes Ji-hoon’s familiar voice, stepping up behind them, Ji-hoon patting one hand on Jackson’s hip.

“It’s okay, we were just talking,” Jackson smiles as Kwan mutters some excuse and ducks away, “Have you seen Yugyeom? A black-haired kid, tall, kind of gangly —”

“Yeah, your boy is upstairs,” Ji-hoon, nods, tapping Jackson on the hip with his fingers and stepping away, “You need help finding him?”

“No, it’s okay.” Jackson smiles, pressing a kiss against Ji-hoon’s cheek, “And very gallant of you, to come to my rescue.”

“Please,” Ji-hoon snorts, raising his beer in some sort of acknowledgment to Jackson’s wave as Jackson starts to move towards the staircase, “You could’ve taken him with one hand behind your back,” Ji-hoon raises his voice a bit, “Send me a text, yeah, when you’re home? So I don’t have to worry!”

“Will do!” Jackson says, taking the stairs at two steps at a time.

“Hyung!” Bambam exclaims as Jackson opens the door to the bedroom. Yugyeom is on the side of the bed, swaying a little bit, with Bambam kneeling in front of him. In the room, doing the universal phone-checking dance for _we really want to leave_ , stands two other boys, looking very anxious, “You’re here!”

“I am,” Jackson smiles, coming forward to press a hand against Yugyeom’s back, and Yugyeom sort of sways into the touch, “Hey, get back to the dorms. You’re breaking curfew already, and you want to get in through the gate before they lock them,”

“I — I don’t want to —” Bambam seems unsure, but Jackson places a hand on his arm and shakes his head.

“You did good, Bammie. I’ll take it from here, yeah?”

Bambam bites his lip and nods, pausing for a moment before quickly sneaking his arms around Jackson’s waist, hugging him close before stepping back and grabbing his friends to leave, his face red as he sends a darting glance back at them. Jackson carefully sits down next to Yugyeom on the bed, stroking a comforting hand along Yugyeom’s back.

“Yugyeommie?” Jackson murmurs as Yugyeom squints at him, “Hey, buddy, we gotta go.”

“Hyung?” Yugyeom smiles, blinking and breaking out into a smile, as though Jackson’s raspy voice is worth that kind of acknowledgment, “Hey!” The smile breaks apart over a grimace, and Yugyeom makes a wet, slightly sick noise as he groans, “I’m really drunk.”

“Yeah,” Jackson smiles, pressing a kiss against Yugyeom’s temple, hooking one of Yugyeom’s arms around his shoulders, “Yeah, I know. Let’s get you home, alright?”

Yugyeom’s weight is heavy, but Yugyeom leans completely against him, easy and trusting. As though Jackson is worthy of trust. Jackson feels almost shivery with the weight of it, with the warmth of being _needed_.

Jackson slowly gets them up, tightening his arm around Yugyeom’s waist, and starts them on the way home.

* * *

“You need to stop wearing such tight pants,” Jackson groans as he pulls at the hem of Yugyeom’s jeans, swatting away Yugyeom’s hands as the man tries to help, “And don’t even start with me, hands _off_ and keep your face at the bucket.“ Yugyeom moans, clutching the bucket in his arms a bit tighter. Jackson falls back as he finally manages to get the jeans off, falling onto his ass which makes Yugyeom give a clucking, loud laugh but then breaking it off with a huff as he stares back into the bucket with a greenish frown.

Jackson maneuvers Yugyeom’s long limbs into bed and disentangles the bucket from Yugyeom’s embrace to place it next to the bed, right below the large glass of water and a couple of painkillers on the nightstand. Yugyeom is young, he probably won’t have too bad of a hangover. But still.

“Okay, Yugyeommie, I’m going home,” he looks at the radio clock on Yugyeom’s nightstand, _2 am?_ _Fuck_ , “Call me tomorrow,” He picks up a post-it, scribbles down _Call Jackson-hyung!!!_ In bold letters and sticks it to the water glass, “Don’t forget, okay?”

“Stay,” Yugyeom whines, pulling at Jackson’s hand, their fingers tightly intertwined, Yugyeom’s long fingers wrapping around Jackson’s shorter and more calloused ones, “I don’t feel good, I don’t want to be alone.”

“Yugyeommie, c’mon —“ Jackson grins, and traces a hand against Yugyeom’s cheek, quick and fleeting before gently thumbing over the pretty little mole underneath Yugyeom’s eye, “Where am I supposed to stay, huh?”

“Here!” Yugyeom chirps joyfully even as he slurs, grinning as though he has somehow cracked the code to something very difficult as he pats the sheets next to him, “Hyung, please —”

Look, it’s not like Jackson isn’t _easy_ , okay? And Yugyeom looks pale, a bit sick, and Jackson would _prefer_ being here. And he’s being _asked_ to stay, which makes his heart warm and flutter.

“Fine!” Jackson sighs, unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them off, throwing them over the back of Yugyeom’s desk chair. He keeps his shirt on but pulls it loose and untucked, barely grazing the edges of his boxers as he removes his earrings and necklaces to put them on Yugyeom’s desk. He runs a hand through his hair, rolls his neck and shoulders to release some of the tension gathered there. When he turns around, he finds that Yugyeom is watching him, his gaze dark and undecipherable.

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jackson flutters his eyelashes, “Don’t look like that, a girl might get _ideas_ ,” he coos, barely managing it past the last word before he snorts and breaks out into laughter.

“Okay,” Yugyeom says, swallowing tight, “Yeah, that’s okay.” He doesn’t look away, only tracks Jackson with his eyes as Jackson steps closer. Jackson sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Scoot over,” Jackson hums, settling down next to Yugyeom on the too small bed. Yugyeom nods a bit heavily, turning around with a sigh, and _oh_ — Jackson is the big spoon? Okay. Yeah. He can do that. He can be warm and steady. He can... try, at least, to be that, considering that he has something worthwhile to protect. Even now, snoring and wheezing through his drunkenness and green around the gills, Yugyeom is beautiful and trusting.

“I only taste mint,” Yugyeom whines, intertwining their fingers as Jackson carefully places his arm around Yugyeom’s waist, “I can’t believe you brushed my _teeth_ for me,”

“Believe me,” Jackson grumbles, curling himself around Yugyeom’s frame, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Yugyeom’s hand tightens around Jackson’s, and Jackson leans over to turn off the light. In the dark, there’s just them, warm and comfortable. Jackson feels warm. He feels steady. He feels like someone who can, maybe just for a while, protect the man in his arms. There is quiet, for a while, as the weird little witching hour of 2 am stretches its long fingers into the room.

“I wish you meant it,” Yugyeom sighs into the room, into the waiting arms of 2 am, “Earlier.”

“Hm?” Jackson murmurs, feeling both like he’s sleeping and wide awake all at once.

“When you called them dates.”

Jackson closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Yugyeom’s back.

He doesn’t answer, not until Yugyeom’s breath falls even and soft, with just a bit of a snore, “No, you don’t, Yugyeommie.” He strokes his thumb over where he and Yugyeom’s hands are connected, resting on Yugyeom’s stomach, “But I — I...” he stops, his voice breaking over the word as he holds the beautiful warm boy in his arms a little bit tighter. Yugyeom, who smiles and buys him ice cream, and hides him, and lets Jackson be the big spoon, as though Yugyeom feels _safe_ with Jackson around. Somewhere between those buzzing, restless, focused thoughts, he has a revelation and it settles into his heart like lead, soars between his ribs like the wings of a fluttering bird.

“I kinda did, though,” Jackson breathes, “I kind of did mean it,” Jackson whispers the words like a confession, feeling the familiar hatred that follows his ugly, greedy want curl into his chest. But he can’t let them take over. Not right now.

After all, he’s the big spoon and that comes with a responsibility. Instead, he sighs, wraps his arm tighter around Yugyeom, and follows him into sleep.

* * *

He wakes up to Yugyeom tracing patterns over his cheekbones, carefully tracing his fingers down Jackson’s cheek, down over his lips. When Jackson’s eyes blink open, Yugyeom freezes. But then, when Jackson merely gives a small and shaky exhale, he keeps going, his fingers moving over Jackson’s skin in gentle little patterns.

5 am glares from the clock on the side. It is not dark. It is not light either. It is right where morning should begin, but before it becomes the next day. It doesn’t feel real, merely like a placeholder between late night and early morning.

“Did you sleep okay?” Jackson says, voice hoarse, his eyes fluttering as Yugyeom’s caress continues down over Jackson’s ear and over his neck.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom is leaning his head on his hand, supporting himself on his elbow as he slowly removes his hand from where it’s been stroking Jackson’s skin. Jackson shivers at the loss, feels a dangerous little burn in the pit of his stomach, “Yeah, I did.” Yugyeom pauses and then clears his throat, “I drank the water.”

“That’s good,” Jackson nods, yawning and stretching as he starts to disentangle himself from Yugyeom’s warm skin and gentle touch, his mind still flickering over the meaning of them, over the way Yugyeom’s fingers touch had felt almost disbelieving, as though Yugyeom could not believe his luck, “How’s your head?” Jackson swallows. They are so, so close. The night still hangs around them, with the words Yugyeom had said and Jackson’s small whispered confession still hanging in the air, not yet chased away by the stark, morning light.

“Good,” Yugyeom smiles, “I’ve got a good head for hangovers.”

“Aw, man, _lucky_ , I always feel like _shit_ —” Yugyeom is still staring at him, and Jackson feels it like a brand, feels as though Yugyeom’s gaze is liquid heat, poured straight down his spine. Jackson covers his face and whines, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Yugyeom says quietly, underneath his breath.

“Stop _looking_ ,“ Jackson squeezes his eyes shut, wills himself to go back to sleep, to pass this weird hour of nothing into something more substantial, when the world will have righted itself.

There is a moment of heavy, expectant pause. Jackson feels the bed dip as Yugyeom moves closer. When Yugyeom speaks again, Jackson can feel Yugyeom’s breath against his skin.

“I’ve been looking for years, hyung,” Yugyeom murmurs, “You just haven’t noticed.”

Jackson exhales, removes his hands. Yugyeom is so close. His lips are pink and wet. His eyes are dark and intense.

“You shouldn’t,” Jackson murmurs, “Yugyeom, I’m not —”

“Please?” Yugyeom says, stroking a thumb over Jackson’s cheek. With a swell and a gentle beat, Jackson’s aching, burning heart rises to the surface, beats out the endless buzz of his brain, strips him down to the most fundamental needs. Tender and bruised, it shivers underneath Yugyeom’s touch, which it _wants_ and _craves_ with such a ferocity that it makes Jackson tremble underneath its weight. When Yugyeom moves closer, his breath dusting in the barely-night air between them Jackson thinks — _oh_. Yeah. I can do this. I can be useful. I can be used.

When Yugyeom closes the distance between them, tilting Jackson’s head up, Jackson opens his lips to welcome him.

The kiss is slow and languid, Yugyeom’s teeth nipping at Jackson’s bottom lip. Every time Jackson tries to speed it up, Yugyeom breaks it, takes a breath only to dip back and restart it, slow and gentle. Yugyeom caresses his hands underneath Jackson’s shirt and then rucks it up, his fingers teasing feather-light over Jackson’s skin. Jackson gasps, as Yugyeom moves even closer, caging Jackson in against the bed, teasing his hands down over Jackson’s sides. When Yugyeom presses a thigh between Jackson’s legs, pressing it flush against Jackson’s hardening, boxer-clad cock, Jackson’s eyes flutter shut. And when he opens them, he finds that Yugyeom is looking, staring, his eyes dark and void-like, filled with so much want and hunger that Jackson feels himself light the match to set himself on fire to deserve it.

“Stop looking,” Jackson gasps, twinning his fingers through Yugyeom’s hair, biting Yugyeom’s lips, “Stop —”

Yugyeom nips at his chin, pressing teasing kisses over Jackson’s jaw and neck. He touches Jackson so adoringly, so sweetly, that Jackson doesn’t know where to go. The gentleness pocks and buzzes over his skin, seems to flare his entire being into begging, aching need.

“Yugyeom —” Jackson cards a hand through Yugyeom’s soft, black hair, tugs at it as Yugyeom is licking a trail over his collarbones, down over the flat plains of Jackson’s chest, carefully licking around the hardening nub of Jackson’s dusky nipple, “Faster.”

“No,” Yugyeom says, voice mild and a little bit whiny, as though Jackson is trying to deny him something, “I will not.” He blows some air over Jackson’s wettened nipple, his eyes flickering up to catch the way Jackson’s pink lips close over the hitched little breath that escapes him. Yugyeom runs a hand down over Jackson’s boxers, his large long-fingered hand moving against Jackson’s hard cock, fingers on either side, slowly mounting pressure through his touch.

“Let me suck you off, hyung,” Yugyeom says, nuzzling into Jackson’s neck, pressing a kiss, once again removing Jackson’s hand from where it tries to cover his face, “Let me —”

“Whatever — whatever you want,” Jackson gasps, “I — I can —”

“No,” Yugyeom pulls down Jackson’s boxers and discards them on the side of the bed, moving one of Jackson’s legs up onto his shoulder and leans down, his breath hot over Jackson’s hard cock, “I’ve been thinking about it, please, let me, you don’t have to do _anything_ ,” he pants over the last words, pressing a wet kiss against the head of Jackson’s cock.

“Watch me, hyung, yeah?” Yugyeom says, licking a broad stripe over Jackson’s cock, flattening his tongue against it, curling it right as he teases back over the head which makes Jackson hitch a whimper in the back of his throat, “Don’t look away, let me see you.”

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jackson says, looking down as he watches Yugyeom fit his fingers over fading bruises on Jackson’s hips, gently caressing his touch over them. When Yugyeom’s eyes flutter up, his gaze is dark and intense and searching, coiled through with warm delight. Jackson tries to look away, but Yugyeom nuzzles at his cock, mouths at the base, wet and eager. After a prodding, slightly whiny little _hyung_ , combined with a kiss to the head of Jackson’s cock, Jackson looks back, meeting Yugyeom’s gaze just as the younger sinks down on his cock, mouth tight and wet, pink lips glistening.

Jackson groans as Yugyeom sinks down over Jackson’s cock, his hand covering what doesn’t fit in his mouth. It is sloppy and eager, Yugyeom’s eyes fluttering shut as he hollows his cheeks. But it’s good, it’s so fucking good and Jackson doesn’t know how to deal with that, doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the fact that this is _Yugyeom_. Jackson should say something, should stop him, but instead, he bites his lip and cards a hand through Yugyeom’s loose black locks and helps him steady his pace, taking a breath to make his own twitching hips still.

Yugyeom’s fingers curl over the bruises on Jackson’s hips, his touch so much gentler than Jackson deserves, and sinks down a bit further, hitching Jackson’s leg up a bit higher on his shoulder. Yugyeom presses his tongue against Jackson’s cock, drooling a bit as he moves it slightly clumsily. Fuck, it’s good, it’s good despite that, it’s good _because_ of that. It’s when Yugyeom gazes up, looking at him, their eyes meeting as Yugyeom hollows his cheeks, lips pink and wet around Jackson’s cock, that Jackson has to tug at Yugyeom’s black hair to warn him. But Yugyeom merely hums and keeps Jackson’s cock in his mouth, his hand around the base of it as Jackson whimpers his release, curling around Yugyeom’s head, and starts to cum.

“Yugyeom —” Jackson says, breaking the heated silence between them, speaking Yugyeom’s name into the night, “Yugyeom-ah, c’mere —”

Yugyeom’s breath is a bit wet, a bit of drool sticking to his chin, but he doesn’t resist as Jackson pulls him off his cock and brings their lips together to taste himself on Yugyeom’s tongue. Jackson switches them over, so that Yugyeom is on his back with Jackson straddling his hips. Jackson still tingles with the aftermath of his release as he presses himself down against Yugyeom’s cock, still in his boxers. Yugyeom’s cock is large and thick and Jackson feels a bit lightheaded with the knowledge of it, with the weight of Yugyeom’s cock branded into his mind through the teasing touch of his hands.

Jackson grinds down and moans as he pulls down Yugyeom’s boxers, releasing Yugyeom’s cock to wrap a hand around its thick girth. Jackson slicks his hand down its curving length, gathering pre-cum from the flushed, leaking head to make the glide smoother. Yugyeom whimpers and presses up against Jackson’s hand, into the loose grip Jackson keeps around his cock, letting the hot, leaking length glide against the smooth, flush skin of Jackson’s ass.

It doesn’t take long until Yugyeom’s pace stutters and he comes, cum splattering over Jackson’s back. Jackson breathes, looking down to find that Yugyeom is looking up at him, reverently. As though he sees right through Jackson, through all the skin and bones and muscle, right to the heart of him. As though he sees through all the aching, buzzing bullshit, and sees the bruised little muscle beating hard and fast, sees how much contradiction it’s capable of, and still, and _still_ , adores what he sees.

* * *

He slips out of the bedroom as Yugyeom is in the shower. He’s not planning on leaving, he’s really not, he just needs some water and... like, some time to think, some time to sink back into the familiar warmth of self-hatred as he tries to piece together what just happened.

And yet, even with the familiar melancholy knocking at the door, he still tingles in the aftermath of Yugyeom’s adoration. His skin still heats from the memory of Yugyeom’s sweet, cumstained little kisses, his large hands splaying wide over Jackson’s bruised skin, nipping gently at Jackson’s neck, right over the bite mark left by another man.

Jackson — Jackson _wants_ this. The thought scares him, but Jackson tries to be brave and meet it anyway. They can talk about it, they can do that at least, Jackson can tell Yugyeom why this is a bad idea, but that they can keep meeting up, keep fucking, because Jackson doesn’t mind. Jackson would even want it, would even welcome it, all the way up until Yugyeom finds someone more worthy of his attention.

Yeah, yeah. That’s a plan. He can do this.

But then, life does one of those cruel little wrinkles that it does sometimes, because Jackson runs straight into Euigyeom. Jackson blinks up at him, at Euigyeom’s sleepy eyes and sleep-swollen face. Euigyeom’s eyes flicker down over Jackson’s state of undress, over the disheveled state of his hair, over his skin still shining with sweat. He furrows his brow, squinting a bit.

The panic spreads slowly, at first, before it seems to course through Jackson’s body like a tidal wave. He feels it seize into his chest with the force of a hoard of galloping horses. Fuck. Fuck — He fucked up. _He fucked up_. _Fuck_ —

He doesn’t even know what he says, his mind just pounding with the adrenaline and breathlessness of panic, but he quickly ducks back into Yugyeom’s room and pulls on his clothes. Jackson stumbles as grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket. His eyes prick at the corners, his breath escaping him in short, barely-there little exhales and he’s not even sure _why_.

This is it, he thinks. This is the time he allows himself to get bitten and no one sticks around to care for him anymore, this is the moment he overstays his welcome, this is the moment — Fuck. He can’t believe he did it, he can not believe he _fucked up_.

Jackson slips out from the front door just as he hears Yugyeom open the door to his room. Jackson’s heart barely seems to beat, merely gasping like a wounded, dying animal. As he walks home, without a jacket, but barely feeling the cold anyway, the sunlight settles into dawn over the beaten path back to his rotten, familiar, life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so one of the things i hate the most about depression is that you are seemingly incapable of fathoming that people's every thought isn't judgmental. it feels fitting that this should be the reason jackson runs away.
> 
> but hey, jackson and yugyeom finally fucked! and we finally got a bit more backstory!
> 
> i can not begin to tell you how much your comments mean to me!! they really help me keep going, even when this story is being difficult to write, or when work is just being really hard. so if you like this, please leave a comment!
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


	4. you give me a reason to run from the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.

It’s Monday and the marks left behind after Yugyeom’s touch is almost gone, but Jackson can still feel the phantom weight of Yugyeom’s lips, of Yugyeom’s fingers, of his hands, his mouth. He’s studying, because sadly, an essay just doesn’t wait for you to sort out your personal life. Jackson is crammed into a small part of the library, where no one ever lingers because it smells weird. But Jackson spent years in and out of more foster homes than he can count on both hands, and some of those were outright nasty, so he feels practically right at home.

The book in front of him seems almost blank by the way he’s staring at it, not taking in a single word. This tucked-away corner in this kind-of library is one of the few places he can be alone, no one knows this is where he usually studies, curled up in one of the ratty old armchairs stinking a bit like mold. Well, no one except Jaebeom, which is probably why Jackson shouldn’t be quite as surprised as he is when he looks up and finds Jaebeom standing in front of him like a really unwelcome jack-in-the-box.

“Jackson,” Jaebeom says as Jackson startles, flinching backwards as Jaebeom frowns, his eyes narrowing, “We need to talk.”

“We don’t,” Jackson says briskly, forcing his hands to work and himself to start moving. He disentangles himself from the armchair he’s sitting on to pick up his notes and books and shove them into his bag, “You want this seat? You can have it, I was just about to leave anyway —”

“Jackson, _stop_ ,” Jaebeom growls and reaches out to grab at Jackson’s wrist. Jackson snarls, the sound low and deep in his throat as he yanks his wrist out of Jaebeom’s grip.

“Don’t fucking _touch_ me, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom’s hand stills, unclenching softly before slowly going back to rest at his side. When Jackson goes back to packing his things, he finds his way blocked by _Jinyoung_ of all people, and that’s just fucking unfair, isn’t it? Jackson groans, raising his hands at Jinyoung’s presence.

“Oh, Jinyoung-ah, c’mon —”

The shrug that Jinyoung gives is slightly apologetic, which doesn’t excuse him at _all_ , honestly. With a last, betrayed glance at his ex, Jackson turns around and bares his teeth while folding his arms over his chest, looking less decisive and more like he’s trying to defend himself against something sharp.

Jaebeom is frowning, which isn’t surprising considering that his scowl is known to be a more or less permanent fixture on his face. Jaebeom’s brows are knotted over his dark, narrowed eyes. He’s looking lovely, Jackson thinks, a bit absentmindedly. Jaebeom’s always preferred to be called handsome, but Jackson has always thought him more beautiful. It annoys Jackson that even now, he notices it. But, sigh, what can he do? Jackson’s hopeless with these things. He spent his entire first middle school year being in love with a stranger he saw on a bus once, and Jaebeom used to be his best friend. Of _course_ , Jackson notices that he looks good. _Love suits him_ , Jackson thinks, before forcing the thought away. Jaebeom opens his mouth, parts his lips before quickly sealing them shut again, taking another breath before he tries again, his jaw tight as he speaks.

“Kwan said he saw you at the party on Friday,” Jaebeom says, biting the words between his teeth, clearing his throat after that first bit before he continues, “He said that you —”

“Since when the fuck do you care about what Kwan says?” Jackson snorts, looking to the side before looking back, “Since when do you even know his _name?_ ”

“Since you won’t talk to me!” Jaebeom throws out his arms, raising his voice before looking around and lowering it back down, “Since you won’t talk to me and tell me what the fuck is going on! If you won’t talk to me, how am I supposed to —” Jaebeom runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the ends of it, makes it fall more messily over his forehead. It makes him look disheveled, his hair like a bird’s nest, and Jackson’s pettily, fiercely glad to see it, “— how am I supposed to _help_ —”

“I don’t need your help, I’ve never _asked_ you for help,” Jackson hisses, “What the fuck makes you think I even want it?”

“Jackson, you’ve fucked your way through half the campus and we’re barely through the first semester,” Jaebeom snaps back, baring his teeth, “Look, you’ve always been —” Jaebeom waves a hand in the air, noncommittally and Jackson snorts, which makes Jaebeom’s eyes narrow even further in anger, “ _What?_ ”

“Loose?” Jackson says, stepping forward, raising his shoulders high around his ears, “A slut?” He smiles, biting it between his teeth and letting the curve of it shape his cheeks but not his eyes, “C’mon, _Jaebeommie_ , don’t be a coward, finish the fucking sentence.”

“Stupid! You’ve always been fucking _stupid_!” Jaebeom snarls, stepping forward, “What the fuck are you _doing_ , treating yourself like this? What the —”

Jackson, who can still feel the touch of Yugyeom’s hands over his thighs, still feel the weight of everything he’s been fucking up and sees them reflected back at him in the angry snarl of Jaebeom’s face _better_ like in a reverse funhouse, as though Jackson’s the one shaped all weird, bares his teeth.

“I’m really happy for you and your new relationship, _hyung_ ,” the sharp snap of the word makes Jaebeom flinch and Jinyoung’s jaw tighten, and all Jackson can think about is _yeah, well, fuck you, never complained about my mouth when it was on your dick_ , “I’m really fucking happy that Jinyoung fucking me for a semester gave you the chance for the love story of the fucking century, but you can _not_ make me watch you fucking have it!” Jackson clenches his fists and closes his eyes, grimacing in the face of his heart pulsing deep red in hard, furious anger laced through with aching, yearning love.

“I’m not —” Jaebeom starts, and fuck, _fuck_ , he’s looking sad and angry, as though he’s the one hurting. Jackson wants to wrap him up in a hug, kiss his cheeks and then have Jaebeom do his huff of a weird laugh as he lets Jackson do it, as though he’s reticent but actually just loves it, preening under the attention, “— I’m not sorry for loving him, Jackson. He’s — he’s everything, he’s —”

“Fuck you!” Jackson hisses, shoving Jaebeom back against Jinyoung, feeling furious and splintered as though he is two people, as though his mind can not deal with him being this bitter and this furious at the same time, “ _Fuck you!_ I’m not asking you to be sorry for loving him, I’m asking you to be sorry because you fucking _hurt_ me!” Jackson is so angry his voice breaks on the last word, and as though his anger is a fragile thing, thin like finely-spun glass, it shatters into deep, heartbreaking sadness, “You loving him and me being hurt are two things that can fucking co-exist, so stop trying to get me to _stop_ hurting and just fucking _apologize_ for breaking my fucking heart!”

For a quivering moment, everything is silent. Because that’s _it_ , isn’t it? Fuck, Jackson’s not delusional enough to blame everything on Jaebeom, Jackson was broken long before Jaebeom or Jinyoung came into the picture, but _fuck,_ he just — he just wanted to be treated better. He’d _trusted_ them, and Jackson knows he trusts too easily, but Jaebeom lying to him in the way he did had _hurt_. It had hurt in such a visceral way that Jackson feels it like a wound, blood oozing out of him with each shaking, gasping little beat. And the fact that Jaebeom’s method of trying to make him forget it is to _argue_ with him that Jackson _shouldn’t_ feel hurt makes... it makes the entire thing hurt even more. It makes Jackson feel crazy, delusional, when all he wants to do is be allowed this hurt. Jaebeom was one of the people that taught Jackson that his pain mattered, that he was allowed to feel the bad along with the good, but apparently that only stretched up until that meant Jaebeom had to feel bad about something.

“Jackson-ah,” Jaebeom starts again, his throat working around the words that he can’t bring himself to say. Because Jaebeom is all blunt edges and low-seething anger, all pride and careful, gentle love. He believes that saying sorry somehow makes the choice he made _lesser_ , or not worth it. And Jackson wants to give that to him, wants to let Jaebeom be able to keep his pride. Jackson would tear his own heart out and hand it over if it made Jaebeom happy but he... he _can’t_.

Jaebeom doesn’t want his heart, and Jackson won’t give it to him. He’d barely gotten it back after he’d given it last time, barely managing to piece it together after Jaebeom stopped being his best friend which had been months after Jaebeom had decided Jackson was no longer his.

“Don’t call me that,” Jackson says, low and tired underneath his breath, because Jackson was never good at sustaining anger. It just tires him out, paves the way for indifferent, cruel melancholy, “Step aside, Jaebeom. We’re done.”

Jaebeom looks away, looks at Jinyoung over Jackson’s shoulder and Jackson is so tired he feels like crying. He doesn’t want to see Jinyoung and Jaebeom being happy, because they are perfect together. Jinyoung makes Jaebeom calmer, stronger, gentler. Jaebeom makes Jinyoung braver, happier, kinder. And Jackson was nothing. Is nothing. He just wants to _matter_ , wants to leave an imprint, a ghost of a touch, a lovely memory, _something_ , because sometimes Jackson feels like a specter, invisible if no one is looking straight at him.

“Jaebeom, _move_ ,” Jackson says, feeling his throat seize up on the last word. Jaebeom looks lost, stretching out one hand to touch Jackson, or grasp at him, keep him still, because Jaebeom somehow believes that if he just perseveres, if he just keeps Jackson still and quiet for long enough, this will be _fine_.

“Jaebeom-ah,” Jinyoung says quietly from behind Jackson, his voice soft and hoarse. Jaebeom looks at Jinyoung, back to Jackson before he nods, swallows, closes his lips around his words, the way he always does.

With a trembling exhale, Jackson shoulders his way past Jaebeom, grabs his stuff from the table, and feels so horrendously, horribly empty. He feels wrung out. He feels Yugyeom’s soft lips against his temple, his fingers tracing patterns over his skin, and _misses_ him. But Jackson ran away. He had quaked and turned cowardly in the face of something he can barely understand, a warmth he doesn’t know what to do with except want and fear in equal measure. And here he is, running away from something else.

He’ll be fine. He’ll be _fine_. He’ll do better next time, he’ll do worse, he’ll move forward, unfettered and forgotten, there’ll be other people and Jackson’s heart isn’t gone yet. It can be broken into smaller pieces, given to the highest bidder or to anyone that expresses interest, really.

“I’m sorry,” Jaebeom’s voice blurts out from behind him and Jackson stills, “I’m sorry, Jackson.”

Jackson’s mouth opens, his fingers tightening over his books, over the worn leather of his messenger bag.

“I should’ve been braver. I should’ve told you, I — “ Jaebeom’s voice trembles and falls into silence before picking back up, quivering on the line of hoarseness, “Jackson, I fucked up.“ Jaebeom pulls in a wet, gentle breath, and Jackson, with every muscle in his body, wants to leave, wants to _bolt_ , wants to hide from the sadness that threatens to dull the edges of Jackson’s angry melancholy.

“You’re my best friend, and I fucking hate that I hurt you, but I — I didn’t know what to... I love him. Jackson, I love him and I didn’t know how to tell you that,“ Jackson looks back, his brown eyes wet and large meeting Jaebeom’s darker gaze. Jaebeom, who always tries to be so stoic but also writes his emotions in broad strokes all over his face, looks distraught, each word slipping out of him as though deep and hidden, “And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I miss you so fucking much.”

And Jackson, instead of running, instead of taking all his things and bolting out the door, even though no one is even blocking it anymore, stays.

“I don’t forgive you,” Jackson says, after a moment of silence, his voice hoarse, quivering over each word, “I — I don’t forgive you, Jaebeom, I’m... I’m sorry, but I — I can’t. I _can’t_.” Jackson breathes in and feels something settle into his chest. It is not relief. It is too sad, and mournful to be relief. But it is something, and it came born from Jaebeom’s apology. It is something to deal with, it is a decipherable thought rather than a void that is frightening to look at. It hurts, still, but it’s... real.

“Okay,” Jaebeom says, nodding, and when he steps forward, gently placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, Jackson doesn’t move away. It is not a grasping touch, not a touch made to keep someone still or to keep Jackson there. It is merely a touch, freely given, “I — Okay.”

A soft, shaky little exhale, a quivering inhale, Jaebeom’s hand is warm on Jackson’s shoulder. Gentle. Careful.

“If you never want to talk to me again, I — I can understand that,” he says, faltering over the words, as though they are painful, and Jackson furrows his brow as he hears the pain laced through them, “But I’m here. If you ever... If you ever want to talk.”

Jackson shrugs Jaebeom’s hand off, sends one last look back, and shakes his head. He leaves, gathering the last of his things, shouldering his heavy messenger bag. Jaebeom’s touch lingers, the spectral weight of it shivering on his shoulder.

Before he leaves, he looks back to find Jinyoung gently cradling Jaebeom’s face in between his hands, his thumbs gently wiping over Jaebeom’s cheeks, his face so soft it seems to affect the very air around them. Jaebeom leans forward and presses his forehead against Jinyoung’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Jinyoung’s waist. Jinyoung looks up, meets Jackson’s gaze.

He smiles, small, soft, and sad. And, well, _happy_ at the same time, his arms around the boy he’s loved his entire life.

Jackson turns his back on them and leaves.

* * *

“Gaga?”

Jackson blinks and looks up and oh. Oh, he’s blocking the back entrance to the cafeteria kitchen. He’d asked if he could sit here for a while, and the old woman running the place had looked at him, patted his cheek, and said _as long as you need, honey_. But yeah, he probably shouldn’t do that anymore, he should get up and like —

Do something. Anything. He blinks again, the buzzing in his ear subsiding slightly, the dark blur of his gaze clearing, finding Mark above him, looking down at him.

“Ah, Yi-en,” Jackson says, trying to smile but thinking it probably doesn’t come out very well by the way Mark kinda flinches at the sight of it, “Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I’ll get up, I —” he blinks again, looks down at his hands, which are clenched tight in his lap, “Oh.” He slowly unclenches one hand and holds it up, holds it horizontal in front of his face, watching it tremble, “Oh, I’m not feeling good,” Jackson frowns, blinking up at Mark, who is still slightly fuzzy around the edges.

“Probably not great,” Mark confirms, very calmly, which is very nice. Mark is just very good at that, at making big scary things seem surmountable, “I brought you water,” he continues, holding out a bottle so cold it still drips with condensation.

“Thanks,” Jackson says as Mark unscrews the top and hands it over. The coolness of the bottle chases away some of the tightness in Jackson’s throat and when he starts to drink, it eases back even further. His breath still comes a bit short, but he feels... present, or more present at least as he wraps his hands around the cold water bottle. Mark smiles and this time, when Jackson smiles back, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, Mark’s eyes soften a bit in the corners, making his face soften into the handsome kind of boyishness that is more or less his trademark.

“Better?” Mark says, patting a hand against Jackson’s knee to make him move over, allowing Mark to sit down next to him with a bit of a huff. Mark leans back on his hands and crosses his long legs in front of him. It takes a while and another sip of water until Jackson can answer, but Mark simply waits, squinting as he looks at the glint of setting sun at the horizon.

“Yeah,” Jackson sighs, running a hand through his hair, curling it down over his neck, closing his eyes against the wet and cool of his hand, borrowed from the water bottle, “Yeah, a bit.”

Mark leans a bit closer, but not close enough to touch. A quiet, gentle little offering. Jackson smiles as he closes the distance and bumps their shoulders together.

“Long time no see, huh?” Jackson smiles, wetting his lips as he allows himself to relax a bit into Mark’s presence.

“Yeah,” Mark nods, looking over at him with both eyebrows raised, smiling a bit, “You’ve been leaping out of sight every time I get closer than 30 feet, so —”

Jackson gives a small huff of something that isn’t quite laughter, tightening his grip around the plastic bottle, watching it give underneath his hands before he forces his grip to soften and gentle.

“Well, it’s been a... I didn’t want to —” Jackson feels drained and discombobulated, as though someone knocked him off course and he’s not sure he _can_ go back, not even if he wanted to. So he goes for honesty, the kind that comes more natural to him rather than the scared, jumpy little thing he’s been for the last couple of months, a beaten dog shying away from touch, “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

Mark hums, his voice a soft and warm thing, a quiet you can lose yourself in. Mark has a high giggle and a low grumble of a voice, and right now, it edges right in the middle. Comforting and non-judgmental.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Mark says, nodding a bit, taking a deep breath and stretching, shifting his weight on the stone slab acting as entrance, “Well, you were wrong,” Mark shrugs, looking over at him, “Is it really that hard to believe I would have agreed with your side of the story?”

“Ah —” Jackson starts, before furrowing his brow. Well, it’s not necessarily hard to believe, it’s just that he hadn’t really... considered it a possibility, “Yes?” He answers, in the end, because that feels the most honest.

Jackson brings his knees a bit tighter to his chest, taking another sip of water. Mark isn’t looking at him, but he’s leaning close enough so that their arms touch. Easy and companionable, kind and steady. The silence stretches between them, curling into the air between them like the golden fingers of the setting sun. Mark, surprisingly, is the one to break it.

“They were dicks,” Mark sighs, his voice low and sure, “They used you. They might not have meant to, but they did. And that makes them dicks.”

Jackson blinks.

“I won’t choose a side because none of us are eighteen and friendships don’t work like that anymore, but, fuck, if you think I haven’t told them that, several times, over the last two months, you’re just _wrong_ ,” Mark runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the brown tresses, messing them up. Jackson reaches up, without really thinking, to smooth them back down into something less messy.

“They were in love,” Jackson murmurs, because he has to, because he still loves Jinyoung and Jaebeom in a way that makes him want to defend them, even against an unflattering truth, “I’m not...” Jackson sighs, shakes his head, “Look, Jinyoung never offered more than the bare-bone of a casual relationship, I was the one digging myself deeper into that fucking mess... And Jaebeom’s slow retreat into anger during the entire semester while me and Jinyoungie were dating should’ve clued me off... Jinyoung broke it off with me the moment something between him and Jaebeom became possible. That’s not why I’m angry, not really,” Jackson laughs, curls his fingers over Mark’s cheek before putting his arms back around his knees, leaning his chin against the rough fabric of his jeans, “Dating is a fucking mess, and that’s _fine_ , I just —”

Jackson swallows, runs a touch of thought along the gentle sadness and the raw ache of his heart, over the thing that became concrete when Jaebeom said sorry. He braces against it, takes strength in its existence, in its tangibility, and continues to speak, “I just wish they’d told me, I just wish they’d seen me as good enough for them to tell me,” he breathes out, “And when I found out and I confronted Jaebeom, he just acted as though I shouldn’t _care_ ,” Jackson breathes out, low and shivery, his exhale dusting over skin poking through the rip on his knees, “As though I was an idiot for being hurt about it.”

Mark makes a low, muttering little sound, and Jackson leans his head a bit to the side, smiles at Mark a bit weakly but not necessarily falsely, “It made me feel like such a _fool_ ,” Jackson murmurs, sighs the words into existence, “It made me feel like such a fool for believing that I had mattered to them at all.”

While Jackson’s talking, Mark places a hand on his shoulder, right between the raised wings of Jackson’s shoulder blades. Jackson can’t feel the touch of the thumb Mark is stroking over his back, but he can feel the movement of it against his shirt.

“You know,” Mark murmurs, “I think you underestimate how difficult the thought of losing you is.”

Jackson huffs a breath of laughter, raising an eyebrow, “Am I now? Because, boy, do I have stories for you —”

“Neither Jinyoung nor Jaebeom were one of your idiot one-night-stands,” Mark continues smoothly, tapping a finger against Jackson’s cheek, “They’re your friends and Jackson —“ Mark places a hand in Jackson’s hair, threads his fingers through the soft tresses, “— you’re a hard friend to lose. You leave a space that’s difficult to fill, once you’ve carved it out for yourself.”

“Mark, _c’mon_ ,” Jackson starts but Mark simply shakes his head, interrupting him again.

“And Jaebeom is a fucking idiot who lashes out even when he doesn’t have to,” Mark bites off, narrowing his eyes a bit at the scenery in front of them, “Prideful idiot.”

Jackson looks at Mark, doing so because Mark’s silences are different. This one is not truly quiet, this one is carrying words that Mark is just waiting to put into order. And so, Jackson waits.

“The only thing I want to say about it is this,” Mark places his arm around Jackson’s shoulders, pulls him closer, even though Jackson is broader than he is, “What if the reason why they didn’t tell you was that they were scared of losing you, hm?” Mark sighs and then gives a small, breathy little giggle, oddly high-pitched, “Jaebeom has been a _terror_ these last few months, trying to pretend like he isn’t looking for you in every room he walks into. It’s never been this easy to get him to go to parties, you would’ve loved it,” Mark snorts and shakes his head, strokes his hand down Jackson’s arm, “It doesn’t excuse anything. But it changes something, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jackson breathes out, after a while, after leaning into Mark’s embrace, letting the heat of Mark’s body chase away the worst of the trembling of his muscles “Yeah, but... I don’t know if it changes enough.”

“That’s okay,” Mark says, nodding, “I didn’t tell you this for their sake anyway.”

They sit there, for a while, watching the sunset. It doesn’t feel like the beginning of something new. But it doesn’t feel like the end of something either.

* * *

“You’re late, hyung,” Youngjae says brightly, laughing even as he sounds a bit accusatory. He is wiping down the counter, even doing the thing where he moves the decorative mugs and jugs to clean underneath them, which is, like, the true sign of a psychopath, honestly, “You’re lucky I didn’t clean the machine yet, or I wouldn’t be able to make one of your ridiculous dessert coffees.”

“Yeah, well,” Jackson mutters, rubbing his fingers over his cheeks, grimacing a bit at the prick of irritability in his eyes, “It’s been a fucking exhausting day, okay?”

“Someone hurt you?” Youngjae says, narrowing his eyes, leaning down to stare straight up into Jackson’s face even though Jackson is trying to hide by looking down at the floor. Youngjae’s bright, smiling, face stares up at him and then he tucks his fingers underneath Jackson’s chin to tilt his head up, “Who?” Youngjae says, still smiling, but his voice low, coiling around the syllables.

Jackson blinks before grimacing and swatting Youngjae’s hand away, leaning over the counter as Youngjae crosses his arms over his chest, waiting.

“I fucked up with a guy I like,” Jackson shrugs, rubbing at his eyes again, which only makes it _worse_ , “And then an old thing came to a head, today. In a very —” he waves his hands, shaking his fingers, “— spectacular, non-spectacular way.”

“Is this about those two idiots?” Youngjae sniffs, uncrossing his arms to go and dampen a soft towel in cold water, returning to give it to Jackson who just... holds it in his hands for a while before gently dabbing it over his cheeks and eyes, “Tell me if you want me to poison their coffee,” Youngjae smiles in a way that seems so real it almost has to be fake, “I know how to do that.”

“ _Youngjae_ -ah,” Jackson snorts, a bit wetly, carefully cooling the irritated skin of his eyes with the wet, cold cloth, “ _Don’t_.“

“Okay,” Youngjae tsks, patting a hand over the pocket of his apron, hidden by the towel tucked into the belt, “Offer still stands though.”

“Please,” Jackson waves a hand, “I just want my coffee.”

Youngjae laughs, high and bright, and Jackson, who always loves the sound of other people’s joy, relaxes in the sound of it. He smiles at the wet towel in his hands, folds it carefully, straightening out the edges so that the lines of it are even. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he fishes it out and unlocks it.

Euigyeom

Jackson-ah

We should talk

Jackson swallows, his hands tight around his phone. He wants to — He wants to run. He wants to ignore the message, pretend like it isn’t there, pretend like it’s nothing. The problem is that it’s _not_ nothing.

Euigyeom

[hugging smiley] Please?

Jackson closes his eyes, takes a breath, and taps out his answer, sending it before he manages to think too much about it.

Me

yeah :)

meet me at the river in twenty?

Jackson looks up as Youngjae puts his coffee in front of him in a takeaway cup. Next to it lies two muffins. Jackson blinks at the muffins and then at Youngjae and his soft smile.

“So, you can eat one of them,” Youngjae says softly, his brown eyes gentle, the mole underneath his eye almost disappearing into his smiling eyes, “And still keep the other one for later.”

Jackson swallows, licks his lips, throat tight around the feeling swelling into it. It’s an odd thing, to be seen. Jackson almost wants to shy away from it. But Youngjae is a difficult person to shy away from, with his presence and smile that can fill an entire room.

“Thanks,” he says, instead, giving Youngjae the towel back, carefully tucking one of the muffins into a napkin Youngjae gives him, placing it in his pocket, “Thanks, Youngjae-ah.”

“You’re welcome, hyung,” Youngjae nods, satisfied, raising an eyebrow as he leans forward, lowering his voice just a fraction, “And think about the poisoning thing, yeah?” Youngjae’s eyes glint a bit and Jackson laughs, feeling something loosen inside of him with the act.

“Yeah,” Jackson huffs, putting his phone back into his pocket when Euigyeom texts back a smiley and a heart, grabbing his coffee, curling his fingers around the warmth, “Yeah, okay, I’ll think about it.”

* * *

The first thing Euigyeom does when they meet is to hug him. When Euigyeom first steps forward, Jackson flinches. Euigyeom, of course, notices it immediately with all the instinct of an older sibling, so when he wraps Jackson into a hug, he makes it tight and strong and gives Jackson no choice but to feel the warmth of it.

Jackson is stiff, at first, because he’s genuinely surprised. He had thought — he wasn’t sure what he had thought. He’d thought... something else. He’s not entirely sure what, he just thought... _not_ this.

“You okay, Jackson-ah?” Euigyeom says, his voice rumbling in his chest. Jackson swallows, carefully wraps his arms around Euigyeom’s thick middle, placing his cheek against Euigyeom’s shoulder.

“No,” Jackson breathes the naked words against Euigyeom’s skin, let’s himself feel the duality of his feelings and exhaustion settling into his bones, “Yes? I’m not... sure.”

Euigyeom pats his back, slowly stepping back from their embrace, not so fast that Jackson can’t get used to the loss of it. He runs his knuckles down Jackson’s cheek, the touch feather-light, “Okay,” Euigyeom answers, nodding his head, “Thank you, coming here to meet me, even though you’re not feeling all that well.”

Jackson, who walks through life feeling as though he owes everyone something for putting up with his presence, doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s never been good at dealing with the Kim family’s kindness, which is enough of a family trait to be branded onto a family crest.

They walk to one of the benches and even though the sun has set, and the dark waters of the river only illuminated by the pearl-necklace of the round lights on the side of the riverbank, it’s not particularly cold. Jackson sits down first, leaning his elbow onto his knee and placing his chin in his hand to stare out over the quiet, lapping waves. Euigyeom sits down next to him, leaning back, placing his arm over the length of the backrest.

“I fucked it up with Yugyeom,” Jackson says, in the end, because it seems stupid to try and pretend as if nothing happened. Euigyeom knows him and who he is, and saw him coming out from Yugyeom’s room in disarray, “I’m sorry.”

Euigyeom is quiet for a moment and then he hums, sighing as he starts to speak, “He’s loved you for a really long time, you know.”

“Fuck,” Jackson closes his eyes, leans forward, almost folding double at the waist as he runs his hands through his hair, “You knew?”

“Why do you think I mentioned him needing friends that first night he was back so you’d take him out?” Euigyeom huffs, tapping his fingers against the wood of the bench, “He’s not subtle about it.”

“ _God_ ,” Jackson groans, tightening his grip on his hair, feeling the scrape of his nails against his scalp, “Fuck!” He closes his eyes, takes a breath, “Why would you _let_ him?”

“Because you calm him down,” Euigyeom smiles, and Jackson knows that even though he can’t see it, because Euigyeom’s entire voice warms with the presence of it, “Because you make him better.”

“I _don’t_ —”

“Because you love him back, just as fiercely as he loves you,” Euigyeom leans forward, placing one large hand against Jackson’s shoulder, patting it once before continuing, “And because I love you too, just like I love Yugyeom, and I couldn’t wish for a better in-law.”

“I’m _horrible_ ,” Jackson says, his words leaving him in a gasp of a sob, wrangled out of him on the back of Euigyeom’s incessant, overpowering love, “I’m not _good_ , I don’t _deserve_ —”

“You love people,” Euigyeom shakes his head, and he’s still smiling, his voice gentling as he strokes his hand over Jackson’s back, “Some people use that,” he hums, looking out over the river, over the dark water and mild autumn air, “Most people just love you back, though.”

“Euigyeom —” Jackson breathes, wet and tight, turning to look at Euigyeom over his shoulder, “Stop —”

“You’re _loved_ , Jackson,” Euigyeom continues, his deep voice rumbling calm into the air between them, curling into the trustful silence between them, “And you should talk to Yugyeom, so that he can tell you just how much.”

Jackson has not been crying today, not really. He’s been tearing up, but not _crying_ , not in a way that makes you breathe after, not in a way that both soothes and worsens the ache inside you. But here, at night, with a muffin in his pocket, with Mark’s phone-number scribbled down onto his forearm, with the gentle tangible sadness pulsing in his chest and with Euigyeom’s warmth next to him, he cries. Quiet, sobbing little breaths, heaved out between his ground teeth.

And when he’s done, he takes a breath.

And feels just a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the thing is that i believe in kindness, and forgiveness, above all. and yeah, jaebeom and jinyoung fucked up, but... it's not as easy as to just see a right or wrong. jackson needed something he didn't get, and sometimes that's just the way it is.
> 
> and sometimes, forgiveness isn't really about moving forward. sometimes it's just about acknowledging that something happened.
> 
> this chapter is softer, than the others, because it deals with just that.
> 
> this story is a STRUGGLE to write, lemme tell you! if you like it, please leave a comment. only one chapter left! it should be out next friday or saturday.
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


	5. baby, oh, you're the only one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.

Jackson’s at his apartment, a dingy little place that costs far more than it’s worth. It’s a one-bedroom, with a kitchenette tucked into one corner. He likes it okay, even though it’s probably only one rat infestation away from being condemned. It’s his, and it’s home, which means... something. But hey, home isn’t always comfort. Sometimes, home is an apartment you can barely afford and that you’ve tried making nicer by having an okay bedspread but it’s ultimately futile. A shithole with a nice bedspread is still just a shithole, just dressed up.

It feels appropriate, Jackson thinks, washing his face in the bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror, looking at the dark under-eyes and the little whiteheads gathered in the corners of his mouth, the pores looking deep and dark over his cheeks. God, do you ever look anything other than ghastly, washing your face in the lone light of your bathroom mirror at a time in the evening where you _should_ eat but you could also just go to bed so why even bother? He meets his own gaze in the mirror. He wonders idly if he should maybe try to do something about his visage. Ah, what does it matter. A shithole is still a shithole, after all.

Jackson walks out into the main room, popping his back, twisting his waist around to hear the satisfying crack of his spine. He lets his fingers trace against the cheap, wooden shelf where the beaten and slightly faded photograph of his parents and brother stands, surrounded by unlit candles and the one little stuffed puppy he managed to bring with him when he’d been shipped away to Seoul, to a distant aunt with little love for family.

The sorrow that swells at the touch, at the silent shame of finding dust on his fingers when he removes them, at the soft prodding knowledge that he no longer truly remembers them, is an ache. It’s a constant, horrid ache that never leaves, or brokers, or lessens. Instead, you mold your life around it, fitting the insignificant pains of bad grades and broken relationships around a bone-deep, chilling void that has forever bent you into a sadder shape underneath its weight.

There is a knock on the door and Jackson looks over, curling his fingers around his dust-covered fingertips, takes a breath and walks to open it.

“You came,” he breathes and tries to fit a smile into his face, tries to bring himself into anything other than sadness, brought on the back of half-remembrance and the ache of loss.

“I did,” Yugyeom says, softly, his hands in his pockets. He’s beautiful, softly lit by the lights in the corridor, not even made worse by the flickering one down the hall. His hair, soft and slightly curled, hangs over his eyes, sways as he straightens his stance, burrowing himself a bit deeper into his large bomber jacket.

Jackson’s not prepared for this because he’s always been running away from conversations like this. This is the first time he seeks it out, the first time he initiates a conversation he knows he needs to have. He’s always trusted his gut instinct because, despite it all, his gut has kept him alive, if worse for wear, through a lot of bad things. He trusts his gut, the way you would trust a boss that belittles you but still has you employed, which is worth _something_. It’s a lot more trust than he puts into many things, especially his heart, which has a tendency to hand itself over on a platter with nary a thought.

He steps aside to let Yugyeom inside, and Yugyeom comes inside, letting Jackson help him off with the jacket. Jackson hangs it up, smooths out the arms and shoulders of it so it rests well on the hanger. As Jackson goes to turn on the stove, heating the water already in the kettle back up, he sees Yugyeom walk by the shelf with his family’s picture, and touch his fingers to the edges of it. He prepares two mugs, adds a bit of honey to his own, and a bit of sugar to Yugyeom’s while Yugyeom sits down on the threadbare sofa.

Jackson’s carefully wringing out the teabag around the edge of a teaspoon, when he finds the prickles of Yugyeom’s gaze on his neck. He sneaks a glance underneath his eyelashes and finds Yugyeom looking at him, face open and honest. Jackson looks back to the mugs, eyes chasing the condensation falling from the edges down over the sides, onto the dented countertop.

For weeks, Jackson’s mind has been a wired, tightly wound thing, like a rat slowly being choked to death by the tight coil of a snake. Now, tired and exhausted, he has stopped struggling. His mind still whirrs and bangs against the inside of his head, old sadness and new anger fizzling swirling underneath a surface he genuinely doubts can contain it.

It is with something like clarity, and the exhaustion that comes with knowing before doing, that Jackson turns to face Yugyeom, handing him one of the cups. He makes sure to wrap a handkerchief around it beforehand, to protect Yugyeom’s hands. Jackson goes back to lean against the counter, watching Yugyeom curl his fingers around the cup, blowing carefully over the chipped edges.

“I’m not good, Yugyeom,” Jackson says, in the end, because that is what it all comes back to. Jackson’s not good enough and has never been good enough, and he feels like Yugyeom should know this and if he doesn’t, Jackson should, and will, tell him.

“I don’t care,” Yugyeom hums, barely missing a beat to answer, smiling at him over his mug, his warm almond-shaped eyes dancing behind the steam of his tea, “I love you, still.”

Jackson shivers in front of the words, finds himself stretching out towards them. He stretches towards them like a child that believes that this time the stove-top will not be warm. Perhaps, this time, it will not burn. He halts himself, tucks the ache and yearning back into his chest, locks it tight in between the shattered edges of a heart and a bottomless void, and continues.

“I’m broken,” Jackson swallows, tightening his hands around his cup, finding the scalding heat seeping through the too-thin porcelain grounding, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole.”

“I got big hands, I can hold all the pieces of you,” Yugyeom smiles, the corners of his lips tucking up, shaping the warm shape of his dark eyes, hiding the little mole underneath his eye in the curl of it, “Even the pieces you find unbearable.”

Jackson closes his eyes, feeling the stretching tendrils of something raw and tender slip between the cracks, stretching out into the open, straightening in the shine of Yugyeom’s devotion.

 _Fuck_ , Jackson thinks, opening his eyes, finding Yugyeom watching him. Non-judgmental. Unwavering, faithful, _loving_.

“I don’t deserve you,” Jackson says, in the end, a last defense, trembling hands held up to stop the final strike.

“You do,” Yugyeom murmurs, “And I’ll prove it to you if you let me.”

 _Fuck_.

The defenses fall. It’s just the two of them left.

* * *

Yugyeom is gentle as he rolls his hips forward, his cock sliding deep enough to make Jackson’s entire body arch into a moan, his jaw slackening open at the almost punishing stretch of Yugyeom’s fat cock. It hurts, because being fucked by a dick that big always hurts, even if Yugyeom could fit three entire fingers in him beforehand. But Jackson has always liked the hurt, has always liked the way the hurt dances along the edges of his pleasure, grounding it, elevating it. It makes him feel like he’s earned it, the small piece of affection that comes with getting fucked.

“Does it hurt?” Yugyeom murmurs, leaning over him, his frame rising over Jackson like a cresting wave, his hand on Jackson’s waist, stroking a thumb over the skin.

“Yes,” Jackson gasps, arching his back, placing his arms around Yugyeom’s neck, feeling the prickling pain spreading over his spine, curling into his hips, stretching all the way out into his toes. He thrusts himself down on Yugyeom’s cock, his fingers trembling into a fist as he pants pain-laced pleasure into the air, “Yes, it hurts,” Jackson slurs the words, trips over them in his desperation to get them out as Yugyeom moves his hips again, circles them to meet Jackson’s next, desperate little twitch downward, “Move, _please_.”

“A moment,” Yugyeom breathes, pressing his forehead down on Jackson’s chest and Jackson twines his hands through Yugyeom’s hair, strokes a thumb over Yugyeom’s high cheekbone, “Give me a moment.”

Jackson feels Yugyeom’s cock so deep inside him it always feels inside his throat, the strong pulse and heat of it almost branding. Jackson feels as though he is being reforged, somehow, by Yugyeom’s big fucking dick. He feels almost delirious with the duality of Yugyeom’s cock splitting him open, making him twitch and ache just on the edge of too much, and of Yugyeom’s incessant gentleness, his large hand strong and steady on his waist, his breath a careful pant against Jackson’s chest, a small kiss pressed against his collarbone.

“Please,” Jackson murmurs, whimpering as he feels himself clench down around a cock so large it presses continuously against the swollen nerves of his prostate, “Please, Yugyeommie, I can’t breathe, I want —”

“I’ll give it,” Yugyeom sighs, his voice strained and pulled tight over the words, his skin hot and flushed, spreading over the pale lines of it, “I’ll give it, when you’re ready.”

“I like the pain,” Jackson whispers, feeling as though he is giving away a piece of himself, but Yugyeom _has_ to keep going, has to thrust into him because Jackson feels as though he is careening towards something dark, something that is just barely out of sight, so that he can only see the outlines of it, “Please, I like it, I want you to give me more of it.”

“Okay,” Yugyeom says, his voice hoarse as he raises himself up on his elbows, caging Jackson in, nuzzling his nose into Jackson’s jaw, “Okay, that’s good.”

He rolls his hips, and Jackson’s entire body feels like it’s on fire.

* * *

Yugyeom is tracing patterns over Jackson’s back, his fingers gently following each little tremble and slow shiver of Jackson’s skin. Jackson has his arms wrapped around his pillow, trying to not show how much the gentle trace and touch of Yugyeom’s fingers affect him. They are soft, kind things, Yugyeom’s fingers, and they touch Jackson as though he can not get enough of him. Jackson can feel the way Yugyeom’s cum trickle out of him, his hole still gaping and clenching, but _this_ —

Yugyeom’s fingers tapping a beat against his back, sliding his fingers in something like a rhythm ( _a dance routine,_ Jackson thinks), soft and reverent, gentle and tender. It’s like stoking a fire, moving coal around to find a spark barely there and fan it into something hot and proper.

His phone buzzes on the countertop and he reaches out one hand to take it, swiping up to see who it is. _Eunwoo_ flashes up on the display, the message hidden behind the notice. Jackson shivers underneath Yugyeom’s fingers that do not stop, not even after seeing the name.

“It’s my fuckbuddy,” Jackson says, blurting the words out in half-purpose and half-accident, “One of them,” He adds because saying anything else would be lying.

“I know,” Yugyeom murmurs, sounding breathless and not bothered at all, his voice lilting into mirth as he finds a spot over Jackson’s lower back where Jackson’s ticklish, “Eunwoo hangs out with Bambam a lot, he told me.”

”Yugyeom-ah,” Jackson furrows his brow, turns around, narrowing his eyes. Yugyeom meets his gaze, calm and steady.

“Jackson-hyung,” Yugyeom answers, in a far less suspicious tone, but with enough warmth behind it to show that he thinks it’s slightly funny. Jackson grumbles as he starts turning around, wincing as his ass and hips jolt with pain and he grimaces. Yugyeom laughs and wraps his arms around Jackson’s back, covers Jackson completely, like a blanket, nudging his chin up on Jackson’s shoulder, digging it into the thick muscle there.

“I’m a slut,” Jackson says, wiggling and failing to make Yugyeom shift even an inch, the long warmth of him blanketing Jackson fully, the soft, hot length of his cock pressing against Jackson’s ass. Jackson feels almost dizzy with the quiet closeness of that, of Yugyeom’s flaccid cock warm against his skin.

“I know,” Yugyeom sighs, caressing his hands down Jackson’s chest and waist, down to rest one of his large hands over Jackson’s stomach, “You’ve told me about thrice, now.”

“Yugyeom —” Jackson continues, because Yugyeom is young and maybe Jackson has to explain it, to make it even clearer. Because Yugyeom can know and yet not understand, and it seems like it, the way he acts.

Yugyeom makes a low, quiet little noise in the back of his throat, rubbing his nose into Jackson’s shoulder. It’s an embarrassed, heated little thing, and Jackson feels the slight stir of his own arousal at that, and he feels an answering one in the soft, barely-there twitch of Yugyeom’s thick cock.

“I think it’s hot,” Yugyeom breathes, in the end, choking it out on the end of the noise, and Jackson can basically feel the way Yugyeom’s eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes against Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson blinks, opening his mouth but only managing a baffled sound.

“Uh —” Jackson starts, because, wait... what?

“It’s hot,” Yugyeom says again, sighing the word out against Jackson’s skin, his hands still warm and steady on his stomach, “I think about it a lot.”

“Wait,” Jackson says, squirming a bit harder this time and Yugyeom mutters in displeasure as Jackson kind of kicks him off to turn around and twist around despite the low, pleasurable pain in his hips. When he’s on his back, leaning back against the headboard, Yugyeom quickly tucks himself and his long body next to Jackson’s. He twines their legs together and puts his head into the crook of Jackson’s neck with a happy little sound. Jackson instinctively threads his hand into Yugyeom’s soft hair, curling his fingers into the soft black of it, “ _What?_ ”

“I want you to treat yourself better,” Yugyeom says, snaking his arms around Jackson’s waist, tightening his hold on him, “I would love for you to be kinder about it, to yourself,” Yugyeom flushes a bit, in the space between this sentence and the next, and Jackson can see the red flush spread over the back of his neck, “A-and I want to be the home you can come back to when you’re done, but —” Yugyeom breathes out, looks up, looks at Jackson coyly underneath his long, black eyelashes, “The way people want you? It’s hot.”

Jackson blinks and finds himself at a loss, but his fingers, the ones in Yugyeom’s hair, curl tighter, tugging him just a little bit closer.

* * *

Jackson is on his stomach with his hips raised, his arms stretched out in front of him, grasping at the sheets. Yugyeom is slowly fucking into him, languorously taking his time. His hands are on Jackson’s hips to hold him up and set the pace, to let each snap and roll of his hips dig as deep as possible. Jackson moans, arching his back and spreading his thighs wider as he feels the tug and heat where Yugyeom’s thick cock stretches him open. Each purposeful thrust is hitting so deep Jackson thinks he might feel Yugyeom inside him if he placed his hand on his stomach.

At a particularly slow, languid thrust, Jackson’s entire body shivers and shakes, his head falling forward as he feels his cock tighten and drip precum down onto the sheets. As Jackson shivers, Yugyeom angles his next thrust, letting the large head of his cock hit right against Jackson’s prostate, letting the entire, thick drag of his length slide over it as he thrusts in once more. Jackson moans, loud and broken, chipping the sound out between his teeth, drooling the reverberating aftershocks of it into the sheets. Fuck, he feels as though he is coming, even with his cock still hard and achingly hot, with each slow thrust of Yugyeom’s making him drip a slow slide of pre-cum.

“ _F- fuck_ ,” Jackson stutters, pressing himself flush against the sheets, feeling as though every nerve in his body seeks friction, even if it would just be stained cotton against his sweaty skin. Yugyeom’s hands are so steady, so large on Jackson’s thin hips, keeping him angled just the way Yugyeom wants it.

Yugyeom leans forward, pressing a kiss against Jackson’s neck, right where the matted baby-hairs meet proper hairline. Wait, Jackson thinks, still moaning out into nothing, _wait_ , there’s a mark of someone’s else’s teeth right there, from where a girl he’d fucked had dug her teeth too hard into his skin —

Yugyeom lets his lips run over the indents left from someone else's teeth, easing his pink soft lips into a panting caress. He licks a trail over Jackson’s skin, pressing his own mouth over the shape of someone else's mouth to kiss it warmly and nip at the skin, almost teasingly.

It is not an action born in the desire to remove the stain from Jackson’s skin, like it was with Jinyoung in the beginning, when Jinyoung still cared enough to be jealous about Jackson’s earlier partners. Instead, it is merely a kiss, as though the mark is just as much part of Jackson as everything else.

Jackson sobs as he cums, clenching hard around Yugyeom’s cock, going shiveringly limp as Yugyeom keeps up his pace, relentless and steady.

* * *

Jackson lies in the bed, on his stomach, his head on his crossed forearms as he watches Yugyeom in a hastily thrown on pair of joggers (Jackson’s, which means they are too small and too big all at once, and it curls something very pleased inside Jackson, to see it like that) cutting up the pizza they ordered. He does it with such diligence that Jackson wants to laugh, wants to kiss away the concentrated little curl to Yugyeom’s lips.

When he’s done, Yugyeom returns to the bed, carrying the pizza carton proudly, placing it in front of Jackson with an extremely pleased air. Jackson huffs, rolling his eyes, carefully picking up a piece and wrapping a napkin onto the bread part, handing it to Yugyeom before he takes his own piece. When he’s taken a bite, he finds his eyes falling back to watching Yugyeom and his strong shoulders and the slight softness to his belly, the way his strength lies behind a strong, fleshy core made for practical use. He’s beautiful. He’s so achingly beautiful it steals Jackson’s breath away.

The kiss pressed against the back of his neck still lingers. Jackson presses some of his fingers against it, tries to see if his touch will erase the tingling trace of Yugyeom’s lips. They don’t. Instead, he carefully leans closer, bumping his shoulder into Yugyeom’s.

“You... really don't care?" Jackson asks, and the words feel small even as he says them because they ask for confirmation for something he should either accept or ignore. He feels like a child, asking if his parents love him, a question to which the answer he should know, but doesn’t.

"I care about you,” Yugyeom answers, nibbling on his piece of pizza, biting off a piece to swallow before continuing, “I want to care for you, be a home and safe place for you. You need that, I think,” Yugyeom nods a bit thoughtfully, looking over at Jackson with a smile, snickering softly when he sees Jackson’s disbelieving gaze, “I _mean_ it, hyung,”

Jackson digs into his own slice since he doesn’t know what else to do. But Yugyeom, like a predator sensing weakness, or like fire finding tinder, continues.

"I know your heart. You love people, and some people think that means you love _less_ ,” Yugyeom scoffs, as though finding the idea ridiculous, all the way down to the very fundamentals of it, “I know that once you love someone, you don't stop. You love me. You won’t stop, even if there are other people there as well."

“Yugyeom,” Jackson breathes the name out as though it is something else, something reverential, “Yugyeom, I —”

"I've loved you always, you know?” Yugyeom leans back against the headboard, tucking his long legs in underneath him, watching Jackson with kind, soft eyes, “Since before I knew what love was, I’ve never wanted someone else."

"Oh,” Jackson flounders in front of the confession, trembles before the weight of it, “I- I haven't? Loved you like that, I mean... I’m not sure I _can_."

"I know,” Yugyeom shrugs, grinning as he picks up another piece of pizza, “It's okay. I can wait."

Jackson snorts, feeling old and jaded in the light of Yugyeom’s devotion, "And if I'm never ready?" he asks, sounding a bit breathless, in the end, despite the fact that he feels like dust, insignificant and petty when confronted with something better.

"Then I'll wait in my next life," Yugyeom shrugs, as though it’s _easy_. As though loving someone that deeply, that reverently, is easy. As though loving _Jackson_ is that easy.

"Fuck,” Jackson breathes out, swallowing as he furrows his brow, looking at Yugyeom, trying to see the end of this neverending, ever-expanding love.

"Does that scare you?" Yugyeom asks, softly, reaching forward to trace his fingers over Jackson’s cheek, catching a bit of food on his finger, bringing it to his own mouth to flick his tongue out and catch it.

“Yeah," Jackson inhales, his heart thundering in his chest, “Yeah, it does.”

For a moment, he pauses. He tries to find the words for it, tries to sift them from the irregular drumming beats of his heart, the flight instinct so strong he considers running, burning the grounds, and salting the earth behind him. But instead, Jackson wipes his hand off on the napkin, clenching and unclenching his hands to warm them up before pressing one of them, trembling, against Yugyeom’s cheek.

“It scares me because you are too kind for me, Yugyeom. Too big-hearted. Too lovely. Too nice,” Jackson feels the fear claw into his chest, threatening to settle into his lungs like sunken lead, but instead he takes a breath, and continues, voice hoarse around the fright high in his throat, “I'm not sure I can love you back, like that, because I don’t... I don’t like myself, very much, and sometimes it overshadows everything else, even my feelings for you.”

"That’s okay,” Yugyeom says, leaning forward, pressing his own hand down over the one Jackson has on his cheek, closing his eyes as he presses it closer, “That’s okay, I’ll teach you."

They kiss. Yugyeom caresses one hand over Jackson’s chest, right over his heart, as though he can feel the fluttering, restless fear of it. He presses his hand against it, caresses his thumb over the skin, his touch gentle.

So very gentle.

* * *

Yugyeom gives a thrust so hard it shakes the entire bed frame as Jackson is pushed hard against it. Jackson wraps his legs around Yugyeom’s waist, groaning as he meets each thrust with a roll of his hips.

 _Fuck_ , Jackson thinks, feeling loose and sloppy, used and oversensitive, fucked down on Yugyeom’s cock for the umpteenth time that night. _Fuck_ , Jackson thinks, panting as Yugyeom slides his cock out so that only the head is inside Jackson’s wet, stretched hole, cum and lube dripping from its clenching, puckering rim, before thrusting himself back inside in one, hard stroke, angling his hips so that Jackson’s entire body seems to quiver at the strength of it, one of his legs giving an involuntary jolt at the next relentless, steady stroke. Jackson can almost feel the way cum and wet is pushed out of him at every thrust, forced out by Yugyeom’s hard cock.

“I thought about it, you know,” Yugyeom gasps, looking down at him, his eyes dark and hungry and Jackson can do nothing except let him, because all he’s focused on, the only thing he’s capable of doing, is brace and try and meet each, deep, breaking stroke Yugyeom gives, “Every time you went with someone, I thought about what you looked like, being fucked by someone else,” he leans down, pressing their foreheads together, his hands gripping at the flesh of Jackson’s ass, spreading him wider to fuck him down even harder, “Fuck, I wish you’d let me see —”

“Yes,” Jackson says, sounding the word out into something like a moan, catching over each breath, “Next time, next time, next time you can — ah —”

“Next time, I’ll tell them what to do,” Yugyeom groans, his pace faltering as Jackson tightens around Yugyeom’s cock in a slow, pulsating tension, “I’ll watch them fuck you, and I’ll tell them how to do it better.”

“ _God_ —” Jackson arches his back, feeling as though he’s been hit in the head with a sledgehammer, his blood running syrup-slow and fire-fast all at once, “Ah, Yugyeommie —”

“And if they do it good, if they do something I can’t, I’ll learn it, I’ll learn it so that we can do it over and over again, with or without them, fuck,” Yugyeom whimpers, gasping as his hips stutter as he fucks into Jackson’s stretched hole, into the squelching, filthy heat of him, “ _Fuck_ , Jackson, it’d be so _good_.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Jackson whimpers, his body tensing into a trembling mess, his balls tightening and cock pulsing as he shatters into pieces, like glass struck by a hammer, each stroke of Yugyeom’s cock splintering him further, “Yes, yes, yes —”

Yugyeom comes with a groan as Jackson cards his hands through Yugyeom’s hair, still clenching around Yugyeom’s pulsing cock, Jackson kissing his face, over the beautiful lovely eyes, the sweet pink mouth, the slope of his nose, the soft parts of his cheeks.

With a groan, Yugyeom drops down, making Jackson’s breath wheeze as he is suddenly pressed down by a tall, sex-sated weight. Jackson is still reeling, ears still ringing with Yugyeom’s words. He wiggles slightly, which makes Yugyeom’s cock slip out and Jackson whines a bit at the loss, his hole clenching around nothing, a slow, thick drip of cum and lube trickling out of him.

They lie there, breathing, stuttering into the air slowly calming down around them.

Jackson strokes a hand over Yugyeom’s forehead, sweeping the sweaty, matted curls away, tracing his fingers adoringly over Yugyeom’s skin. Yugyeom’s brow is slightly furrowed as Yugyeom rubs his cheek thoughtfully over Jackson’s chest, one hand coming up to purposelessly play with one of Jackson’s nipples, carefully pebbling it underneath strokes of his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson murmurs, his mind a quiet whirr, sated and softly spoken.

“Does this make us swingers?” Yugyeom blinks up at him, his face twisted into a wrinkle, “Do I feel comfortable with that? Do _you?_ Should I put that in, like, my profile —”

Jackson bursts into laughter, right over Yugyeom’s whiny little _hyung don’t_ laugh _at me_.

He’s still giggling, heart bursting bright, as he pulls Yugyeom up for a kiss, slotting their lips together, wrapping his arms tight around Yugyeom’s neck.

* * *

“You’re always good,” Yugyeom whispers as they lie facing each other, close enough for their breaths to mingle, their hands intertwined between them, “You always try your best, and that makes you good, Jackson.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jackson says, his eyes fluttering closed and then open, thoughts flickering like moths around a flame in the gentle midnight hour.

“Do you believe me?” Yugyeom murmurs, leaning close enough to bump their foreheads together, sneaking his arms around Jackson’s waist, pulling him closer, slotting them together like two pieces meant to be together.

“Yugyeom...” Jackson sighs, resting his arm over Yugyeom’s hip, his fingers curling and giving slow caressing strokes over Yugyeom’s lower back.

“No, seriously,” Yugyeom says, holding Jackson close, his hands gently cradling Jackson’s face, tilting it upwards to make their gaze meet, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Jackson breathes out, without hesitation, because it’s _true_. He _does_. The realization of it should take him by surprise, but it doesn’t. Instead, it just settles in as a discovered truth, as though it was something carved into him for a lot longer, he just hadn’t known about it.

Yugyeom does not look surprised at all, as though he already knew, which feels unfair. They’ll talk about that, in the morning, when Jackson doesn’t run away and Yugyeom stays for breakfast. About just how much Yugyeom sees.

“Then believe in me, who believes in you,” Yugyeom smiles, stroking a thumb over Jackson’s cheek.

Jackson closes his eyes, swallowing tight around the words. Yugyeom leans closer, kisses Jackson’s forehead, letting it linger.

Jackson thinks about Yugyeom, and the path they’ve walked. He thinks about his heart, still broken and aching, beating too hard for too little. But, he thinks, maybe — just _maybe_...

Trust flares in his chest, just for a moment, fanned into life and brought into bright light by Yugyeom’s bottomless adoration. It’s a small thing, and it doesn’t stay for long, not even in the gentle quietness of midnight.

But that’s okay. He’ll get better at it. He’ll try again, tomorrow. And the day after that.

After all, they have both this life and the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything's not immediately better, but they'll do their best to get there, and sometimes that's all you can ask.
> 
> we're done! this has been a hard, kind of draining journey, but i am ultimately happy that i did it! i love these two boys, and jackson trying so hard to be good and yugyeom that loves him so much because of it, not despite anything.
> 
> as earlier stated, this has been a hard journey, but the reviews that has been left throughout has made it so much easier and kinder to bear. i have been bad at answering lately, but i am getting back on it this weekend and answering each and every one.. i can not stress enough how much i absolutely adore all of you who review, and how much it makes my day to get the email in my inbox. this story, and every story, i write is for you.
> 
> i have a [twitter! ](http://twitter.com/syster19) join me there if you want.


End file.
